"Do you remember when we used to dance? Boom, boom-boom tshh! And incidents arose from circumstance. Boom, boom-boom tshh!" Joker's voice carried along the cockpit causeway, drawing the attention of a malevolent presence that was already closing in on his position. "One thing led to another when we were young," he sang passionately with eyes clenched shut, tapping out the rhythm on an invisible drum kit, "and we would scream together songs unsung..." Feeling the rush of the chorus approaching, he felt his chest swell with emotion and opened his mouth to release the energy. "It was the heat-"

Suddenly, and without warning, the pilot's music cut out, leaving his unaccompanied voice to fall uncertainly in its absence.

Joker spun around on his chair, his eyes falling level with a chest. A female chest. He glanced up.

"Jeez Shepard, how long have you been standing there for?" he asked, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Long enough to know that you really shouldn't quit your day job," the commander gibed with a sly grin, watching the pilot shake his head and swivel back around to face the warm glow of the holographic interface.

"Right," he replied as his fingers danced across the face of the screen, "because then you'd miss me too much." He tapped on the return button with a sense of finality before craning his neck to see the woman who had not shifted from her vantage point. "That's so cute, Commander, really. Knowing that you care so much," he continued before his voice took on a more playful character. "Makes me feel all fluffy inside."

The Commander rolled her eyes and arced around his chair, leaning against the bulkhead to his side and folding her arms across her chest. "I think most of the fluff is confined to the inside of your head, Joker," she teased, lifting the outer arm from the crook of the other and gesturing towards him.

"Aaooww!" he wailed, gripping at his heart in mock agony and slouching in his seat. "Again you spurn me with your rapier wit! Oh cruel fate! Oh tainted stars!" Joker grinned from underneath his baseball cap, sensing Shepard's disapproval, and hoisted himself upright into a sitting position once more. "Seriously Commander, you should have a permit for that or something."

The soldier rolled her eyes at the pilot's childish antics and watched him reinsert the input cable she had only moments before yanked free. "Have you noticed anything...strange...going on with Jack and Miranda?" she asked, her voice coloured by genuine curiosity.

"Uh, no, not really Commander," he replied a little too quickly, returning his attention to the holographic interface before him.

"Really?" she asked flatly, suspicion tingeing her intonation. She tilted her head, appraising his reaction. "Jack wears a dress and parades around the mess hall and you don't find that even a little bit...odd?"

He swallowed hard. "Well, yeah, I guess that is kinda weird. But what do you want me to say, commander? It's Jack. I told you when you brought her aboard she was all kindsa crazy."

"Riiiight..." she drawled, clearly unconvinced. "And what about Miranda making out with Garrus in the briefing room?"

"Miranda made out with Garrus in the briefing room?"

"Joker..." His name was intoned reproachfully.

"Hey, what's with the third degree, Commander?" he exclaimed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I don't know what's going on with them. They're always at each other's throats, you know that."

She studied him for a moment, watching his eyes dart about on his screen skittishly. It was always difficult to tell whether that particular trait of Joker's was down to nerves or his caffeine addiction which, in her opinion, was bordering on dependency level.

The Commander nodded and pushed herself off of the bulkhead. "Alright," she said easily, walking past the pilot. "But you know what the consequences of lying to me are, Joker, right?" she called over her shoulder.

"Uhh, immediate cessation of nummy-nummy snacks?" he hedged hopefully through a grin.

"Yeah," he heard her reply. "Something like that."

The Normandy SR2 was a far larger ship compared to its predecessor with the most notable developments focusing around the enlargements of the living quarters and research areas of the frigate. Essentially, the ship had doubled in size, a feature that had demanded at great expense the purchase and installation of an even greater Tantalus drive core than that which had been installed aboard the original Normandy. It was with all of this in mind that Shepard found herself wondering why she happened to stumble across such situations at the one she was in now with alarming regularity.

Approaching the CIC elevator she identified the unmistakable forms of Jack and Zaeed staggering around on the deck between the lift and Galaxy Map podium. Feeling her hopes of a relaxed evening sinking rapidly, she picked up her pace, only to be greeted by Jack dropping to her hands and knees and vomiting onto the warm plating below her.

The Commander halted in her tracks, watching the young biotic heave then roll onto her back with a pathetic groan.

"Uuuggghhhh, all of you stay the fuck still!"

The soldier's frown deepened as she levelled a disapproving glare at Zaeed who was swaying unsteadily over the slurring convict.

"Hah!" he bellowed, pointing at her furling form and beginning to pitch forward with the imbalance the action caused. Shepard lurched forward, catching the mercenary by the arms and steadying him upright once more. "Told you you couldn't keep up with me, you mad cow!" he taunted, impressively oblivious to the commander's presence. His tone was a mix of amusement and incredulousness as he pointed again at the heaving Jack. "Look at you!" A burst of laughter tipped his balance backwards, Shepard's reactions not fast enough this time to catch any limb of his tumbling form. Zaeed slumped down the length of the elevator door, his expression one of surprise at first, turning quickly to hilarity as he realised the ridiculous position they were in.

Jack, too, having rid her stomach of the offending toxicity, was now in a fit of hysteria, cackling wildly at the mercenary's clumsiness which seemed exponentially more amusing through her drunken haze.

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose before directing her attention to the ceiling. "EDI," she summoned wearily.

"May I help you, Commander?" replied the synthesized, disembodied voice.

"Get someone up here to escort Jack and Zaeed to their racks." Snorts of laughter were discharged from below her line of sight, prompting Shepard's further order: "And to keep them there until they sober up."

"Certainly, Shepard. Should I alert Dr. Chakwas as to the situation?"

The commander sighed. "No..." she replied listlessly, then grimacing at the mess on the floor. "That can wait until I'm through with them tomorrow."

"What?" Zaeed rasped belatedly from the floor, stuck by a moment of clarity as he hauled himself up into a sitting position. "Shepard's 'ere?"

"Up here, big guy," the commander gestured with a hand, meeting his lost gaze with an unimpressed look.

"Oh, bugger," he spat, before hanging his head heavily from his shoulders.

It was only moments later, following a rather indulgent snort, that Shepard had realised Zaeed had passed out quite peaceably in that position, head lolling gently with each intake of breath.

Jack's following morning had been plagued with sickness and unrest, with nausea visiting in waves as she recalled the more shameful moments of the evening before. The actual trip back to the Normandy was a complete blank, although a receipt in her trousers' pocket had placed her at the Stand carry-out at around three in the morning, so she guessed it was likely that they had used the closest Rapid Transport Terminal to hail a cab from that level. Her memory of the events on board, however, were lamentably more robust – Shepard, in her infinite wisdom, had ensured this by insisting that Jack clean up the mess she had made personally. And so, it was with a sense of resentment that the convict greeted the commander later that same day.

"You knew you were scheduled to go groundside with me this morning," Shepard said brusquely, pacing before the other scantily clad woman who was laid flat out on her cot with a forearm draped across her eyes.

"Not now, Shepard," came the disinterested reply. "I still feel like I'm gonna barf."

"I don't give a damn!" the commander roared unexpectedly, making Jack flinch and peer from under her arm at the soldier. Seeing the angry glare of the brunette, she sighed dramatically and sluggishly hoisted herself up in her cot. "Alright..." she relented and rolled her eyes, her voice adopting a facetious character. "Bad me, I shouldn't have done it, it won't happen again, yadda yadda."

Shepard's posture stiffened, her fists clenching by her sides. When she spoke, it was an iciness the commander hadn't used since their first chat weeks ago. "I couldn't care less what you do on your own time, Jack; I'm not your mother. But I do expect you to follow my orders on my ship. If I say you're coming groundside with me, you report to the cargo bay at the time specified in a fit state, is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am, Commander, ma'am!" Jack parodied, giving a flippant salute, before rolling her eyes and relaxing her back against the wall. "Shit, Shepard, why don't you just use a dick next time? Damn."

The Commander shook her head in quiet exasperation. "I'm serious, Jack. You want to come on these missions, you better start to act responsibly. I don't have time to babysit anyone on this ship."

Shepard didn't wait around for the convict's response, instead electing to turn and leave her with those parting comments.

"Shit," Jack said once she was alone in the bowels of the ship and stretched her legs out before her on the cot.

"So, from what I hear, someone can't take their alcohol," Miranda taunted in the mess hall, placing her forearms on the table in the kitchen and leaning her weight forward. "You know anything about that, Jack?"

"Nope," Jack replied simply, not looking up from her cards. "But I did hear Gardner ran out of bin liners again. You should really find something else to wear, Cheerleader. What are your pom-poms made out of? Feather dusters?" The convict placed her cards face down on the table and turned to the operative, two hands poised in the air. "Ready? Okay!" Jack cheered in a vapid, affected voice and began punching the air in rhythm to her cheer. "I am, I am, I am a fucking bitch!" She snorted derisively at the narrowing eyes of the operative before returning her attention to the game.

"You're giving me fashion advice?" Miranda sneered, unfazed by the convict's taunts. "That's a laugh. Next you'll start wearing dresses – oh, no, wait, you did that already, didn't you?"

"Fuck off," Jack answered casually in Miranda's general direction as Zaeed threw in his hand and stood up from the table.

"I fold," he said, grabbing his bottle of whisky and ambling towards the deck's causeway. "I'm off to the Can," he called over his shoulder. "Do something more productive with my time."

"Anyway, the reason I asked is because I've devised your next challenge," the operative continued, pushing away from the kitchen table and swaggering over to where Jack was slouching at the dining table.

"Did you fall on that fat ass of yours and bump your head? I did mine already."

"We're not done yet. We play until one of us backs down. We agreed, that's the only way we settle this," the operative argued, placing a hand on her hip.

"A glutton for punishment, huh?" Jack said, glancing at the woman as she settled into a seat opposite. "Fine. I'll still wipe the floor with you."

"Good," Miranda said brightly, planting a bottle of vodka before Jack with a smirk. "You're going to need this."

Jack found herself rocking her weight onto the balls of her feet and back as she waited nervously for the briefing to begin. Her hands were stuffed in her pockets, one fidgeting uncontrollably with the lid of the flask that she had stashed in her pocket. She had tried to tell herself that if anything, this challenge would be an enjoyable one – that the stupid Bitch had messed up this time. But as much as she was loathe to admit it, the commander's warning still rung in her ears and Jack had no intention of being confined to her bunk while everyone else got to go out and kill stuff. No doubt that was exactly what the Cheerleader was hoping for, however, so once again the convict had resigned herself to making the snooty bitch painfully aware of how much more daring and capable than her she was.

Jack idly watched the rest of the team filter into the room and settle into position around the table. She couldn't help the way her lips were pulled into a wide grin as her eyes were naturally drawn to the awkward rendezvous between Lawson and Vakarian, who each were standing stiffly and silently by one another, focussing on anything other than each other.

The chatter quickly abated as Shepard's strong, confident tone cut through the din and began to describe the day's schedule.

"Alright people, this is where we're at. As you know, we're docked at the Citadel for an essential restock and refuel. At zero-five-hundred tomorrow, we leave for Hawking-Eta to pursue this Reaper IFF that's supposed to get us through the Omega-4 relay safely. That means you all have approximately..." her voice trailed off as she glanced at her chrono, "twenty-one hours of shore leave. I suggest you all take that time to prep your gear and unwind as it's unlikely we'll be making another pit stop. Any questions?"

The inquiry was met with silence as the commander pushed off from the desk and straightened herself. "Alright, well-"

"Actually," Miranda interrupted, casting a quick glance at Jack. "Commander, I was wondering if you could tell us any more about our... mission," the operative said, letting her eyes flick to Jack who met them with a dark glare. Using her shoulder to push away from the bulkhead she had taken to leaning on, Jack pulled her flask from her pocket, flipped open the lid and took a quick swig, her face creasing with the alcohol burn.

"Which mission?" Shepard asked, causing Jack's jaw to tighten before raising the flask to her lips and taking another swig. Miranda lowered her head and rubbed a hand over her mouth to disguise her amusement at the situation.

"Uh, the Collector one, Commander," she replied distractedly, stealing another glance at Jack from under the wall of black hair that fell across her face. She watched Jack curse silently to her side before taking a further two distinctive swigs, blinking heavily as she clumsily fixed the lid back in place.

The rest of the team's focus was centred on the unusual line of questioning the operative had taken, with one or two of them exchanging baffled expressions between themselves.

"I...think we all know the situation with the Collectors, Miranda," Shepard replied uncertainly, watching the woman closely with curiosity.

Jack rolled her eyes in exasperation and tipped a further two mouthfuls of spirit down her throat, this time the burn causing her to exhale sharply, attracting the attention of Jacob and Mordin. The pair looked over their shoulders at the convict who smiled sweetly in return, before raising her middle finger at them, dismissing their unwanted attention.

"We need to get a hold of the Reaper IFF to make it to the Collector home world safely," she heard Shepard re-iterate, as she upturned the flask into her mouth once more. "Be under no illusions, the mission is one of vital importance." Jack continued to drink, the ratio of swigs to words beginning to swim in her mind.

"Right..." Miranda nodded slowly and after a pause asked, "The Collector mission you mean?"

"Yes, Miranda," the commander said irritably. "Is that clear enough for you?"

The operative watched as Jack emptied the remnants of her flask down her throat in the corner of her eye. The convict was swaying ever so slightly as she sauntered towards the table and leaned her palms against it for support.

"Crystal," she replied with a grin.

"Can we go now?" Jack blurted petulantly. "I need to take a piss."

Shepard frowned at the biotic's personal revelation as Miranda chewed the inside of her mouth to prevent an outburst of laughter.

"Since there doesn't appear to be any more questions, then...yes. Crew dismissed."

The group dispersed quickly, leaving the commander in the briefing room puzzling over Miranda's unusual behaviour.

Jack stood in the mess hall, eyes fixed on the stream of black coffee pouring from the nozzle above her mug. She rarely drank the stuff, finding its bitter taste reminiscent of mud, but desperate times called for desperate measures; it was barely afternoon and already she was feeling the effects of the booze.

"That was a fine performance," she heard a regal voice say from behind her. "Really. Keep that up all day and you'll do just fine."

"I don't recall asking for your bullshit vote of confidence, Cheerleader," Jack snapped, reaching to remove her mug from the machine. "Why don't you just fuck off back to daddy, okay?"

The operative laughed shortly, picking up a red apple from the fruit basket and inspecting it casually. "And miss all the fun?" she asked. "I don't think so." Sporting a wide grin, she turned on her heel and began to swagger off in the direction of her office.

Jack shook her head, muttering a string of curses under her breath as she reached for the sugar.

"Oh, by the way," Miranda added, stealing the convict's attention from her beverage. "I wouldn't bother with that," she said, nodding at the mug. "Coffee doesn't sober you up. Urban legend, I'm afraid."

Jack watched the woman's features pull into a smirk as she turned and left, feelings of rage and helplessness blossoming in her gut. She frowned at the murky drink for a moment before picking it up and emptying it into the sink unceremoniously.

"Fuck."

"Gooooood afternoon, kiddiwinkles! This is your ruggedly handsome pilot talking to you from the helm of the sexiest ship since the original Normandy. The crew will soon be departing for that illustrious oasis in the stars, the Aladdin's cave of the skies, the hippest, most sensational station in the-"

A squeal of feedback blasted over the intercom, followed by a series of muffled ruffling noises and Joker's distant voice. "Oh come on, Commander, I'm just playing around! You forget to take your chill pills this morning? Wait. Wait, Shepard, it's just a joke, what are you-"

A softened thud sounded across the speakers. "Hey! Alright, alright, I'll tell them, jeez. Such a hardass." After another pause, Joker's voice resumed its normal clarity through the speakers. "The Commander would like to remind the crew on relief that your behaviour is representative of the ship on which you serve; that there's to be no drinking to excess, no fighting, no stealing, or indeed any fun of any kind. Ow! That was unnecessary! Oh yeah, you would say that..." Joker's voice grumbled to his unseen companion before the transmission ended abruptly.

Jack shook her head as she walked alongside Zaeed to the elevator. "That fucking clown," she said, thumbing the call button. "I don't get why Shepard puts up with his shit."

"He's a damn fine pilot," the mercenary rasped, stepping into the elevator and hitting the CIC button. "Just about the only thing he's good for," he added, rolling his left shoulder and stretching his neck this way then that.

Jack snorted, not wanting to give the instigator of her predicament one iota of credit. "Makes for better target practice if you ask me," she said bitterly, feeling a rush of air as the elevator doors swished open.

As they cut through the CIC, headed for the airlock, they caught up with the rest of the group who were massing just inside. Miranda appeared to be ushering the rag-tag gaggle forward when she noticed the convict's glare.

"Oh, good, you're there. I was beginning to think you'd be hiding in your hovel all night," the operative gibed.

"You're not coming with us," Jack said in an accusatory tone, realisation and apprehension flashing in her eyes.

"Of course I am," Miranda replied easily. "Going to keep an eye on everyone for the Commander."

"You don't even drink much," the convict protested, eliciting a mere shrug from the raven-haired biotic.

"Then I'll be the glass collector," she replied, raising her eyebrows in expectation.

Jack bit back on her anger and levelled a fierce glare at the woman as she fished out her flask from her trousers. She popped open the lid and took two swigs of the freshly filled canister, not allowing a cowardly break in eye contact.

"Easy!" Zaeed rumbled, watching the spectacle unfold from his six-foot-something height. "I'm not carrying you back this time," he added as the airlock opened and the crew began to shuffle out.

"Indeed," Miranda nodded seriously. "Losing you somewhere on the Citadel would be tragic and wholly detrimental to the mission," she said with a grin, turning her back on the pair and following the others off the ship.

Jack took another swig of booze, a warm glow blossoming in her cheeks. "Keep that bitch away from me tonight," she warned Zaeed before stuffing her flask back in her pocket and making her way out of the ship.

The Dark Star was curiously sedate when assorted members of the Normandy crew sauntered through its doors. The music beat in a slower, more tranquil rhythm than it had before and the volume was soft enough to allow for comfortable conversation.

The peace of the club was not to last however, with the crew becoming rowdier with the more drinks consumed. More and more patrons had flooded in during the course of the evening, packing the dance floor with gyrating hips and wildly waving limbs.

"So, let me get this straight. We've now got humans, an asari, a turian, a quarian, a krogan and a drell on the team." Garrus paused to take a swig of his drink before resting the glass on the table with a powerful clunk. "What's next for the manifest, Geth?"

Laughter rippled around the table, punctuated by a few derisive comments about the likelihood of that eventuality.

"It'd be a cold day in Hell before the commander allowed one of those walking tin cans aboard," Jacob noted, emptying the dregs of his beer bottle down his throat in one smooth motion.

"That'd definitely be a fast way to mission failure," Tali laughed.

Jack, on the other hand groaned and swayed on her stood as she lifted her shot glass to her lips. The convict couldn't quite believe the number of times those fucking words had crept up in conversation during one day and in her drunken ecstasy, had actually marvelled at the ingenuity with which the Cheerleader had woven it into the evening's proceedings. The operative had even managed to bump into a tax and revenue customs official at the bar and wasted no time in introducing him to the table as a 'tax collector'.

By her sixteenth shot, Jack had decided to level the playing field, or rather, had come to the conclusion that if she was going to go down on Shepard's Shit List, so too would the Cerberus Bitch. With this in mind, she had taken to spiking the operative's drink at every opportunity she got. This continued until the biotic was too intoxicated to think straight and had staggered off in search of pink elephants.

"I'm fiiiine!" Jack protested, hoisting her bottle into the air proudly with a "woo!" and stumbling backwards. Her clandestine entry back onto the Normandy had not gone to plan at all, bumping into the Commander mere moments after she had passed through the airlock.

"You're drunk again," Shepard admonished, watching her fight to keep balance through narrowed eyes.

"No I'm...I'm..." Jack's eyes widened in surprise before she suddenly buckled over and vomited beside the commander's feet.

Shepard pursed her lips, but to her credit, stood her ground, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Just as she opened her mouth to reprimand the young biotic, a burst of laughter from the airlock distracted her. It was a hearty chuckle, honest and carefree. As she stepped over the paralytic Jack, her jaw dropped as an equally inebriated Miranda Lawson sallied forth, stumbling over her heels and clutching onto the bulkhead for support.

"Damn it!" she cursed to herself as she pulled herself upright.

"Miranda?" Shepard asked incredulously, observing the operative's unsteady movements.

The raven-haired biotic looked at the commander, sheepish surprise reading in her expression. She cleared her throat and removed a wayward strand of hair from her face, taking a brief moment to regain her composure. "Oh, hello Commander," she greeted casually as she began to advance on the Spectre's position. Unfortunately for Miranda Lawson, her co-ordination was more adversely affected than she had realised, and only made three steps before tripping over her feet and falling flat in front of the unimpressed woman.

Shepard looked from the collapsed operative to the crumpled convict and exhaled a mouthful of air. "Alright," she said, turning and making her way for the elevator. "I give up."