Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It’s fine, ma. I’m just gonna clear my head a bit before I come home.”

The skycar hummed, flashing across the gently rolling hills, heading into the soft pinks and oranges of the sunset. This far out from Joughin, Ashley’s car was the only one following the soft-blinking nav beacons.

Benning was pretty — if you liked field upon field of bronze wheat. She was just fond of the distinct lack of smoking ruins and bullet holes. On this planet, you could almost forget there’d been a war on. It itched too — the laughter of children when she'd stepped out of the spaceport, the clean lines of undamaged arcologies, the mundane hum of everyday life.

It didn't quite feel real yet.

Mariana Williams didn’t sound convinced. “I don’t want you to be alone, meu bem. You’ve had a hard year — you should be home with your family.”

Her mother wouldn’t understand the weight pressing down on her chest — the memories that warped her dreams into sharp talons. Her family, as much as she adored them, were civilians. The first time she’d shot someone in combat, she’d come home and spent hours on the porch with her dad, drinking scotch. Now, her father was dead, and his advice was far beyond her reach.

But Shepard understood.

She smiled, even though Mariana couldn’t see it. Telling her mother she was spending a couple of weeks of her leave not at home had been a difficult negotiation. “I won’t be alone. I’ll be with my work friend, and I’ll be home before you know it.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you. Be safe.”

She rolled her eyes to herself. This was Benning. It didn’t get much safer in Alliance space. “I love you too, ma. See ya.”

The call clicked off, and Ash eased the car into a gentle descent. The house was set on the inward slope of a ridge, overlooking the strange emerald green of Benning's oceans. She'd looked up the why of it on her shuttle flight - but the trivia had slipped through her fingers.

She set the skycar down just outside the garage. Everything was silent and still, except for the soft, far away chirping of insects. Ashley sat in the car for a long few seconds, soaking in the quiet and the sound of the ocean.

On the ship there was always sound of some sort; the just-there hum of the drive core, the clank and turn of machinery. The background noise of her life.

She wasn’t quite sure whether the absence of Normandy noises was restful or unnerving. Maybe a little bit of both. It was a reminder that a world outside of that warship existed — something she’d half forgotten during the war. Her life stretched out before her, broken into two pieces - before Normandy and after.

Before and after Emilia Shepard.

Ashley climbed out and flung her seabag over her shoulder, grabbing canvas shopping bags with the other hand. Benning was all about sustainability - they hadn’t even had plastic at the store she’d stopped by. She’d spent twenty minutes paralysed by the decision of which butter to buy, what drinks to get. Who needed five different brands of butter? What kind of beer did Shepard even drink?

There were things Ashley knew about Emilia Shepard that few did, but there were all these little things she didn’t, and she wanted them all.

All she could hear was the slapping of the waves on the little beach below. Shepard’s skycar was in the carport, covered up, sitting next to a small sailboat of all things.

It felt strangely intrusive to key open the door and step into Shepard’s home, even if she’d given her the keys and told her to make herself at home until she arrived. Ash wished she was here — but arriving together had been out of the question with Shepard’s current public profile. She’d been caught in the clutches of the planetary governor and media from the moment she’d landed on Benning.

In some ways, it might’ve been better for them to go to Earth, with its crowds and apathetic distance from the events of the past year, but Ashley had wanted nothing more than this since Shepard had quietly — nervously — told her ‘I have a place.’ The display of vulnerability from a woman that always seemed like she could move whole planets via sheer willpower had brought Ash dangerously close to kissing her in the damned cargo bay.

It was a little worrying how often she had to chant to herself that she was a professional, an adult with functioning self-control.

Her boots clicked on the floor as she carefully set the shopping down on the bench and her seabag on the couch, casting an eye around as she put the food away into the bare cupboards and fridge. It was clear Shepard hadn’t been home in a long time — there was a thin layer of dust coating the top of the fridge and the cupboard shelves were empty. Still, wasn’t as bad as she thought it might be, considering Shepard had admitted she’d not been there in over a year.

The room was scattered with the detritus of a life spent in transit, with only fleeting visits to safe harbour.

The signs were everywhere — a Navy jacket with the wrong bars still on the shoulders folded neatly over a chair. Holos scattered on the desk of Shepard with her family, with friends at bars, in unit photos of the teams Shepard had led before the Normandy. The books on the shelf were still separated into genre and alphabetized though. Nerd.

Shepard's exacting precision still showed, but there was something less perfected about it than her cabin on the Normandy or her apartment on Arcturus.

There was a tin of art supplies and a sketchbook on the table. Something about it made Ashley's chest tighten, just a bit. Shepard's cabin on the ship was an ode to useful things: reports, neat uniforms, weapons maintenance. Art supplies weren't part of that picture.

She wanted to look in the sketchbook, but she didn't. Shepard would show her when she was ready.

The exhaustion of travel hung over Ash like a heavy blanket, but she still hesitated before entering Emilia’s bedroom.

Straight out she’d asked, “So, will I be in the spare room or yours when I’m staying with you?”

Shepard had rubbed the back of her neck in that way she had when she was feeling a bit sheepish. “Uh. There’s only one bedroom.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous, Commander,” she’d teased, and Shepard had spluttered indignantly to her delight.

But it still felt weird. Like she was a voyeur intruding in Shepard’s life, even though she’d been invited in.

She changed into shorts and a tank, careful of her still healing body, and slipped into the soft sheets. She must’ve drifted off to the sound of the surf. The next thing she knew, the door hissed open.

Before she was fully awake, she was on her feet, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” A familiar voice.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, to the white-clothed figure in the room. “Shit, sorry.”

Shepard chuckled, “It’s alright. I was trying not to wake you. Teach me for trying to sneak up on a Marine.”

She fumbled for the light switch. Shepard stood there in her dress whites, rack of ribbons lined up on her chest, Star of Terra gleaming dully at her throat, bulky black brace wrapped around her left forearm. It was a sight Ash had seen many times before — but she still let herself drink her in, secure in the knowledge that she could look as long as she wanted. That Shepard wanted her to look.

“How was the governor?”

Shepard shrugged. She looked good in whites. Real good. Ash could almost understand the uniform fetish some civilians had.

“Same politics and pony show as usual. Smile for the camera. Give sound bites about ‘just doing my job, sir.’ They’ll all forget about it soon enough.” She sounded tired. She was still recovering from her injuries, layering her customary stoicism on top, but there was something a bit brittle about her composure now.

“Fun.” She ran a hand up to Shepard’s shoulder, to toy at the ribbon. The other woman went still as she ran a thumb across the solid bronze star itself. “This as heavy as it looks?”

Shepard smiled slightly, tilting her head. “Heavier.”

She reached for the clasp, but Ash caught her wrist.

“Lemme.”

Shepard let her hands fall to her sides, and Ash pulled open the heavy clasp and carefully deposited the medal on the desk, beside the other woman’s peaked cap. When Shepard reached for her jacket, Ash waved her off again. She smiled with amusement and raised her hands in mock-surrender.

“Don’t start,” Ash muttered, pressing a kiss to her jaw. She felt the steady pulse of her heartbeat beneath warm skin.

“Couldn’t wait to take charge, huh?” Shepard let her start on the gold buttons, then slide the jacket from her shoulders. Ash pulled the white t-shirt she wore off and tossed it carelessly over the nearby chair. Shepard's eye twitched, just a little. Neat freak.

“Like you mind.” Ashley tossed her a smirk before grabbing a coat hanger for Shepard’s jacket. Ripping someone’s clothes off was all well and good, but she doubted Shepard would appreciate a rumbled dress uniform and her ribbons left on the floor. 

She turned back to Shepard neatly putting her boots beside the bed, movements still careful in the way of someone carrying still-healing pain. Ash's omnitool, discarded on the bedside table, blinked a soft 01:43 at her.

‘You’re in late,” she observed, taking silent steps on the cool floorboards closer to the other woman.

Shepard shrugged. “I could’ve caught a flight in the morning, but…”

“I missed you too.”

She got a warm smile in reply. They hadn’t really been alone since that one night in Shepard’s Arcturus apartment. There had been the battle and wounds to take care of and reports to write. They'd just had to orbit each other, letting the knowledge of what they meant to each other settle in within the Normandy's rhythm.

Shepard’s brown eyes fell to Ashley’s side. “How’s the ribs?”

“I’m all good,” she assured. “Still a bit sore, but I’ve been cleared for light duty and everything.” She was more worried about Shepard, if she were honest.

“Wasn’t asking as your boss.” Shepard hooked a thumb into the shiny black belt threaded through her dress pants. As Ashley’s girlfriend? Shepard was usually pretty good at letting you know where you stood but they weren’t exactly in safe harbour. This was new to both of them.

“I’m fine, Emilia. I feel good. Stop worrying.” She took another step forward, cupping her cheek in one hand, feeling the texture of her chin scar under the heel of her hand. Then she slid the other down her stomach, pressing into the hard muscle of her abs, to her belt buckle. This close to her, she could feel more than hear the exhale that broke from Shepard’s lips in the moment before she kissed her.

Emilia’s good hand slid to her waist, pulling them together. Ash lingered, enjoying the warm solidness of her, running her fingers through the soft curls at the back of her head. The frantic passion of their night together before Ilos had been damned good in its own way, but this was very nice too.

They had time.

She drew back but didn’t pull away, keeping a hold of her belt.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to keep, you know.” The embarrassed duck of Shepard’s head shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was.

“If only everyone knew Commander Shepard was such a dork.”  Ash pressed a laugh into the skin of Shepard’s neck, chest warmed by a now familiar amused delight. But everyone didn't know. This was something Shepard had given her.

“Shut up,” she grumbled.

Ash’s grin slid into seriousness. “I don’t make a habit of sleeping with my superiors, you know. You — this means a lot to me. I want to — be with you.” Words. Why were words so goddamn hard? “Even if that means we bide our time until we can be more open.”

Until they were on different postings and Ash had a bit more rank on her shoulders.

“Well...good.” Shepard smiled, a flash of white teeth.

Ash rolled her eyes. For someone so decisive on the battlefield, Shepard could overthink like a pro.

“Mhm.” She pulled her belt open with a swift snap and nipped at her jawline. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

Shepard laughed and pulled her closer again, into the warmth of her mouth and the firm pressure of her hand on her back and waist, blunt nails running across the sliver of skin revealed by her tank top.

Another hard kiss got a sigh and fingers pushing her shirt up.

“Just remember,” Ash said playfully as she began to push her uniform trousers down her hips. “I’m not the sharing sort.”

“Roger that,” Shepard laughed, her face beautifully open, and tugged on her until they both fell into the soft sheets.

Ash drew a finger across the swirls of the stark black tattoo sprawled across Shepard’s shoulder blade. She wore her history on her skin, hidden beneath her clothes.

“Listen, I need to tell you something.”

Shepard rolled over and stretched, sheets around her waist. She was handsome like this, muscle rippling under dark skin, and she looked almost young again, like she really was only twenty-nine. She looked like she'd put down her armour. “Yeah?”

“Shepard, I…”

The words stuck in her throat like sharp-edged rocks. I love you. How hard was it to fucking say? She felt it, God, she felt it. But Ash couldn’t bring herself to say it, to this woman she was supposed to yes sir no sir at. Not fuck the night before the most important mission of their lives, not violate the regs for, not risk the career that was just now starting to flourish. Not fall in love with.

But she had.

Shepard smiled, cradling her face in one warm, callused palm. Her eyes were dark and fathomless. The sort of eyes you could fall into. “It’s alright, Ash. You don’t have to say it.”

“But I do.”

“I know. But you do things in your own time, right? Not before, not after. You’re not ready yet, and that’s okay.”

Ashley opened her mouth but Emilia pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

“I’m pretty tired. Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” It was a gentle exit ramp rather than an order.

After a moment she nodded and let her arm curl around the other woman’s waist. The waves beat steadily against the shore outside. When Ashley finally slept, she didn't dream of gunfire.

Chapter Text

The mid-morning sun was warm through the glass. Ashley stretched, watching the roll of the waves outside — flowing water instead of cool steel, sunlight instead of dark vacuum. It was still a bit surprising to look down and not see Alliance blue.

She glanced over her shoulder. Shepard's breathing was still evening out after their morning run — they'd tried sleeping in, got to 8am and had to get up before they both went crazy. A towel was around her neck, brushing against the metal of her implant jack, and she was stretching out her bad arm. Her curls were still damp, the tight curls catching the light.

God, she was beautiful.

"I'll make us some toast," Shepard said, nodding to herself like that settled it. "Operation: Breakfast."

Ash's lips twitched. She moved over to the coffee machine on the bench and stared at it for a moment as Shepard got out the bread.

"Emilia?"

"Mm?"

"How does this fucking contraption even work?"

Shepard's lips twitched. "Never seen an espresso machine?"

"Maybe I should've brought a percolator," Ash said, staring at the multitude of buttons.

Shepard scoffed lightly, "You can't make me drink that abomination disguised as coffee."

"I've seen you eat coffee grinds."

Shepard's laughter was quiet — she was never going to be someone overt — but real. It faded into something softer. Almost shy. The look in her eyes without the customary steely wall of stoicism between them still made Ash's breath hitch.

"Not here," she said - not here, away from the ship and the mission and the uniforms, and the command star on Shepard's chest.

Ashley chose a random button and pressed it. The machine gurgled. She shoved a cup underneath it to just barely catch the stream of coffee. It did smell good, she had to admit.

She'd just added milk to their coffees when the toast burnt.

Shepard waved her hand over the toaster to clear the smoke, a perturbed look on her face.

"Bloody hell," she grumbled, hastily turning the toaster off.

Ashley began to laugh. "You burnt toast."

Shepard tried to glare but the twitch of her lips betrayed her. There was something still a bit raw despite the amusement she couldn't help show. Ash didn't think Shepard found being bad at things easy.

Shepard scraped the toast, muttering about operational difficulties that made Ash laugh again. Ash sipped her coffee, strong and hot, and just watched her. There were tiny lines around her eyes Ash didn't remember. Maybe she'd just never had the time to notice.

They ate breakfast out on the patio, overlooking the green-blue ocean, mostly in silence. It wasn't awkward, exactly, just careful. They'd saved each other's lives, touched each other's bare skin — but there'd always been the mission. Always the uniform, even if they stripped it off each other for a little bit.

Shepard finished her toast and dusted the crumbs for her fingers, eyes fixed on the horizon. A few yellow-feathered birds wheeled over the surf.

"It's weird," Shepard said at last, "Having nowhere to be."

Ash hummed, watching her face. "Guess that's the point."

"Yeah."

"It does feel kinda unnatural," Ashley admitted, "I keep feeling like there's something I'm forgetting to do."

Shepard reached across the table and laced their fingers together. "I feel that."

"We'll get used to it," Ash said softly, and squeezed her hand. "I'm making breakfast tomorrow though."

Shepard's small smile felt like a breath of fresh air. "Noted." A pause. "Maybe you can teach me."

"Yeah, that sounds nice." It did. Ash smirked, just a little, "How do you not starve on leave usually?"

Shepard's smiled turned sheepish. "Microwave meals."

Ash opened her mouth but was interrupted by the chime of Shepard's omnitool. Shepard glanced down at it, eyes sharpening and then hit the pop up to answer the call.

"Commander Shepard." Her voice had turned to smooth steel. "Good morning, sir." A pause as whoever was on the other line spoke. Shepard's dark eyes glanced at Ash. "I understand, sir, but I'm afraid I'm not able to help. I'm on leave. I suggest reaching out to JSOC."

I'm on leave. There was something in Ash's throat, something burning warm in her chest.

"Yessir. Have a good day. Goodbye."

The orange glow of the omnitool faded around Shepard's wrist. She rubbed the back of her neck when she saw how Ash was looking at her.

"You said no." It was breathed out. Ash hadn't meant to say it, it just slipped out.

"You said," Shepard ducked her head a little, "You said I didn't need to be perfect. I just had to try. I'm trying."

Ash couldn't help it. She leant across the table and kissed her.

Shepard kissed her back, slow and certain, her hand curling warm around Ash's jaw. The sea hissed softly below. When their lips parted, Shepard rested their foreheads together, her eyes closed and a tiny smile on her full lips.

"Guess you are," Ash whispered.

It was enough. It was more than enough. For the first time in years, she let herself believe it might stay that way.

Shepard woke to an empty bed, the sheets cool when she ran a hand over them. It was still dark, none of the apartment lights on, and a flicker of concern ran through her. She pushed herself upright, tugging the silk scarf from her hair and tossing it on the pillow.

She pulled on a shirt, grimacing at the aches and pains, and went looking for her disappeared girlfriend. Her body liked to remind her that she'd lived a hard thirty years.

The other woman was leaning over the kitchen bench, palms flat against the surface, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. The long, dark hair Shepard had been running her hands through earlier that night hung down like a curtain, concealing her expression.

"Ash?"

Ashley jolted at her voice, spinning to face her. There was something in her eyes that said she was somewhere that wasn't a quiet house on Benning, her fists clenching and then unclenching. Her voice was rough. "Hey."

"Are you alright?" She took a step forward, but stopped when Ashley flinched, withdrawing into herself.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Ash," she said gently. "Talk to me."

Ash's jaw worked and then her shoulders slumped. "I couldn't sleep, so I checked my omnitool, and I got an email. From Marie Neal."

"Yeah?"

The other woman pressed the heel of her palm into her forehead, leaning heavily into the bench. "Her daughter Penny was one of my squad leaders in the 2/12. She was my friend. She...she fucking died right in front of me and now her mum wants me to talk to her about it."

Shepard opened her arms, and after a moment Ash half-staggered into them, pressing her face into her neck. Shepard just held on tight. "Do you want to talk to her about it? It can be cathartic, for both of you."

"It was a fucking awful way to die." A tremble ran through the length of her. Shepard stroked her hair. "And I ran, Shepard. I left her there."

"You couldn't have done anything else," Shepard said quietly. She knew how empty it wasn't your fault could sound. "You survived."

Ash slumped into her. "I shot the bastard in the face, but it doesn't...they're still all dead."

"I know." She kissed her jaw.

"I just keep playing it over in my head, you know? I wanted to dig in, do a proper defensive perimeter with patrols. But my platoon commander didn't think it was necessary, and I didn't push the point because I was worried about losing my platoon sergeant billet." Ash shuddered against her. "They trusted me, and I couldn't get them out of that ambush. I crawled out of there while they were still executing the wounded."

"Ashley," Shepard said firmly, pulling back to look at her, "anything you could have done differently would've gotten you killed. You did the best anyone could have."

Ash stared at her for a moment, face shadowed, and then she began to sob. Hard, bone-shaking sobs, like she was breaking apart. Shepard eased her over to the couch and wrapped herself around her like she could hold her together.

"I'm here," she murmured into her hair, "I'm here, cariño."

Ashley woke alone, skin prickling in the cool morning air and the sheets next to her were empty, still warm with the imprint of Shepard's body. She felt raw still, like she’d bandaged a wound but it hadn’t stopped bleeding yet.

Her omnitool sat beside the bed. She looked at it for a long moment. Dishes clinked softly from the kitchen.

She still didn't know how to reply to Penny's mother.

But…maybe that was okay.

Maybe she didn't have to have to pick herself up, triage, and say keep moving, Marine.

Ash got to her feet, stretched, wincing at the tightness of scar tissue across her deltoid, and went into the ensuite.

When she walked into the kitchen, Shepard was making two cups of coffee. The sunrise gilded her dark skin in soft, golden light. Her movements were as precise and certain as when she field stripped her rifle.

"Morning," Ash said.

Shepard glanced back at her, and gave her one of those small, warm smiles that were nothing like her wry smiles and hard smirks when she was talking to the brass or joking under fire.

"Morning, cariño," Shepard repeated, "I made you coffee."

"I could get used to that," Ash said, voice unexpectedly thick.

Shepard smiled again. "Me making you coffee?"

"That too."

Shepard set down the mugs with a clink and moved to her. She was still a little careful, like she didn't know quite how to show what she wanted, but when Ashley reached for her, she stepped into her hands.

"Hey," Ashley said, and kissed her.

Morning light spilled through the glass, gilding the room in gold. Shepard's hand found Ashley's, and the world, for a heartbeat, felt simple.

Chapter Text

"You know, this isn't the sort of place I thought you'd have."

They were stretched out on the beach, sea water drying on their skin under the warm afternoon sun. The restlessness lingered — no guns to clean, no reports to write, no meetings to get to, no one to shoot — but they were doing their best to just stay here, in the quiet. Even if they still couldn't sleep beyond 7 or 8 am.

They'd gone swimming for a few hours, alternating between competitive exertion and quieter moments, Ash's hands on Shepard's bare waist, Shepard's eyes on her face

Then Shepard had put her little boat in the water and attempted to teach Ash how to sail. Attempted being the operative word. They'd fallen in a few times, laughing each time, before Shepard had finally dragged the dinghy onto the beach and they'd collapsed onto their towels.

"Hrm?" Shepard propped her head up on her elbow. "What do you mean?"

"It's quiet. You always seem to be surrounded by people, is all."

"Yeah. I don't like being alone too long. But," Shepard exhaled, "this has always been the one place I can just be." And she'd shared it with Ashley. "And when I'm done being alone, my abuelos live twenty minutes away. My brother and stepfather live in Joughin. Nicky uses my boat and car more than I do."

Shepard stretched, and Ash leaned back, enjoying the ripple of muscle under her dark skin.

"They won't mind me stealing you for a week?"

"Nah. How about your family?"

"My mother isn't happy, but they'll survive. They'll get three weeks with me."

"They want to meet you," Shepard said abruptly. "My abuelos."

Ash raised an eyebrow.

"Look, my abuela ferreted it out of me. She's like a terrier or something when it comes to my personal life," she scowled.

Ash laughed, flopping onto her back. "Someone who can get secrets out of you? I can't wait to meet her."

"Great," Shepard grumbled. "She wants me to bring you round sometime this week if you're up for it."

Ash looked at her for a moment. "That seems like a big deal."

They hadn't talked about — meeting the parents, or anything like that. Shepard had never said that Hannah Shepard wouldn't approve. She didn't need to. And Ash's family…

They'd worry. They wouldn't understand why Ashley was risking her career.

Shepard's brown eyes met hers, and it still made Ashley's heart pound when she just — let Ash see her, instead of retreating.

"It is," she said simply.

"C'mere," her voice was a little rough around the edges. Shepard didn't hesitate, she propped herself up, one hand dropping to trace her clavicle, still damp from the ocean. Her chin tilted in a unspoken permission, offering her mouth.

Ash kissed her, steady and thoroughly, pressing one hand to her back. Feeling the tension drain out of her, the way she relaxed into it.

"So?"

Emilia Shepard leant in the doorway of her grandmother's kitchen, arms crossed. Outside the window, sparks flew as Ash and her grandfather stoked the fire, working to create the cooking charcoal.

Shepard had a lot of fond memories of this house, though they often felt like distant, dreamlike wisps when she was in the Traverse. Eating dinner with her grandparents, roughhousing with her cousins, her abuelo teaching her to sail and garden — warm and grounded compared to the spacestations and starships she'd lived most of her life on.

She didn’t remember her mother clearly — just warm arms, the smell of lavender, laughter in the kitchen — but Rosa Alves had kept those memories alive in this house. She'd told stories so often they'd almost become her own.

A picture of Isabel still sat on the mantlepiece. She was grinning, a warmth in her eyes. Looking at her face always hurt, like pressing on an old bruise, but it was a good kind of hurt.

Rosa looked up from her chopping board, a gentle smile creasing her face. "I like her. She makes you laugh." A pause, brown eyes the same colour as her own bright with old grief and living love, "Your mamá would have liked that."

"I'm glad," she admitted. The most she'd told her abuela to begin with was that she had a woman over - mostly to stop her cousins or brother coming by to borrow her car or boat. But her grandmother had dragged it out of her.

"It's been a while since I've seen you into someone like this. Not since…"

"Rita," Shepard frowned slightly, a sharp pang of guilt stabbing into her gut. Rita's ship had been destroyed in the Battle of the Citadel, because of her orders. Rita had survived, but Shepard knew what it'd be like, carrying the weight of the crew who'd gone down with the Trenton.

"It is good to see," Rosa said with a nod. "I know you are often lonely, Emmy."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "I'm surrounded by people all the time, abuela."

"I said you were lonely, not alone, and I think you know there's a difference. You don't seem that way now. And I don't think it is just Ashley either."

Rosa had a way of seeing into her that had always been a little comforting and a little unnerving. "I have a good crew. Friends. And Ash…"

She'd loved her N7s, of course she had, but she'd never given herself to them in the way she had MSOT 6. Not the way she now did with the Normandy. They'd followed her to the ends of the galaxy - such devotion demanded the same in return. When a unit chose you that way, they owned you.

And Ash, God, Ash.

"She's important to me," she admitted, glancing out the window, at the silhouettes of her girlfriend and her grandfather, fire dancing in front of them, weaving up into the sky to disappear.

Rosa put down the chopping knife and swept over to seize her in a hug that was fierce despite its caution of her still healing body. “Ay, mi vida, I’m so happy for you."

"Thanks, abuela," she murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"How is your arm?"

She rolled her eyes. It still tingled if she exerted herself too much, still sometimes didn't move the way she wanted. But it was healing. "It's fine. I've had worse."

Rosa glared at her. "That doesn't mean I can't worry. You should be more careful. You have more than enough Purple Hearts as it is."

"A dreadnought fell on me," she protested.

"Bah. Go take this out to your abuelo," Rosa said with the unmistakable hint of an order. Shepard was far from a sixteen-year-old girl anymore - she was a decorated naval officer with her own command.

She meekly took the bowl from Rosa's hands. Rosa's orders never felt like Julia Shepard's cold commands — just like love.

Ashley had fought geth, too many types of zombies, assassins and a Reaper. Meeting her girlfriend's grandparents shouldn't have made her nervous.

Still, her stomach was still doing slow, traitorous flips. They'd mostly faded — Rosa and Manuel had been warm, welcoming, accepting. They didn't care about Ashley's last name or the command dynamic on the Normandy.

Sparks flickered up into the darkening evening, the bonfire snapping beside the low glow of the pit full of coals as Ash settled in beside Shepard on a blanket spread on soft, green grass.

The Alves home was small and rustic, built of warm brick instead of the blocky plastic and metal of the prefabs she'd grown up in. Houses like these took a lot longer to build, but she could definitely see the appeal. Rosa's garden — a riot of purples and reds and whites of native Benning flowers — rivalled old Ziva's down the road from the Williams family home on Amaterasu.

Shepard's grandfather tended the coals and the slab of meat suspended over them. Manuel Alves' initial silence had given away to a wry, understated humour as they'd worked on the fires together. His quiet had something warm underneath it.

Shepard slung an arm around her shoulders. "They'll have to roll me back to the Normandy after a few weeks of my grandparents' cooking."

Ash leant into her, lips just brushing the shell of her ear. "I'll help you work it off."

Shepard shivered and then her lips curved in that half smile. "I'll hold you to that."

"Do either of you need anything? Drinks?"

Shepard pulled back slightly, her voice light. "We're good. Sit down for a moment."

Where Shepard was all coiled energy and directed intensity, her grandmother barely came to Ash's chin, and moved around in a flurry of expansive gestures. Given both Shepard's normal gravitas and that her usual limit for physical contact with ninety percent of people was a clap on the back, it'd been thoroughly amusing watching Rosa Alves shower her in affection and direct her around.

As Euler finally dipped below the horizon, it was time to eat — flank steak with bread and salad, Shepard a warm weight against her side. Shepard grumbled a little when she realised her abuela had cut up her meat — "What am I? Six?" — but there was a hint of gratitude in her expression. Ash knew how much the weakness and paralysis in her left hand was driving her nuts.

"Thanks for this," she murmured as they set their plates aside, stuffed so full she was worried she'd burst.

Shepard just smiled at her, leaning into her, and they watched the dying fire sputter and dance.

"You know," Ash said softly, once Manuel had taken their dishes with an amused shake of his head at their offers of help, "I have to go to OCS at some point. N School too, if I want to stay in the 103rd."

And she did. She fit there like she never had in the 2nd MARDIV.

Shepard looked over at her. She didn't flinch or pull away like it was a rejection. "I know. It might be a good thing."

"Yeah?"

"I'd miss you. Terribly. But then we could…be. No more hiding," Shepard said softly.

There was a lump in Ashley's throat, a slow blossoming hope. "You want that?"

"Yeah," Shepard tilted her face back to look up at the distant stars. No deflection. Just the truth ringing in her quiet voice. "I do."

Later, she’d remember that moment — the smell of smoke in Shepard’s hair, the warmth of her hand, and how close forever had felt.