Aeian T'Goni was up for a medal with all the rest of them, war heroes and survivors alike, whatever the difference was between them. With EDI and Shepard and the Reapers and the Normandy gone, all the things that Joker had loved washed away and caved in under the weight of their own mechanical hearts, he had nothing better to do than to walk into that courtroom and sit down, pulling the fraying brim of his cap over his face.

He had worried about whether Shepard was a Cerberus-constructed machine in the beginning, and noticed her having her own worries. She'd told him how the Illusive Man plied him with wine and her name, all to make her more comfortable with the Cerberus crew she had been gifted. How much of it was fake and how much was real? It was comforting to invent scenarios - other worlds where they had found out different things about each other.

But there was no science fiction in Gunny's death, no suspicions of double-cross or hints that maybe a secret organization was behind it all. It was just people, stupid, fallible people, and a woman in front of him behind the podium at her own trial, her hands wringing at her sides. Her nails were bitten down. Joker noticed signs of physical weakness pretty quick on other people.

Those hands had killed his sister.

Her leg had broken. He ached to hear it, and hadn't been able to prevent himself from groaning and slumping down when he found out. How she must have hurt, Gunny who'd played cops in cops and robbers, who wanted to be a pilot.

And this commando, who had killed her to save herself, to shut Gunny up so that the monsters wouldn't get her.

Joker hadn't brought a pistol to the courtroom, but as he watched Aeian T'Goni stand up to speak, eyes cast down and burst blood vessels darkening her cheeks, he wished he had tried.