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Ashley had never hated anything so much as the coffee on the Normandy.
Calling it "coffee" was an insult in and of itself; it wasn't coffee, it was regret in liquid form. Battery acid filtered through burnt mesh. Some quartermaster somewhere had checked a box labeled "caffeinated sludge" and cursed the entire Systems Alliance Navy with it.
Not that it mattered. She wouldn't leave the Normandy for anything. Ashley had been shuffled from one backwater colony garrison to another, planet to planet, for as long as she'd been in the Alliance. The Williams name had kept her on the ground for years, a shipboard posting always out of reach; application after application for space service, always coming back denied.
So being on the Normandy now, flying through the stars, gun in her hands to watch a Shepard's six? It was everything she never thought she'd have. She was in the Navy. It was a dream come true—she wouldn't trade it for anything.
But...God, did Ashley miss the taste of fresh planetside espresso.
Which was why Ashley had a secret.
The deck lights were dim, the space silent and deserted, as Ash made her way toward the Normandy's mess hall. Time was relative in space, of course, but the liminal feel of three in the morning somehow seemed to be a universal constant. A warship operated around the clock and yet somehow, Ash was the only one in the room.
A good thing, too—she was too twitchy to deal with crew right now. Ash had woken in a rush, air punched from her lungs and fingers cramping on an invisible trigger. Eden Prime tended to feature heavily in her nightmares, but this one had been especially bad—civilians impaled by dragon's teeth, nanobots replacing flesh with cold, horrific blue. Whole families corrupted, desiccated. Children hoisted on towering spikes, dangling like some grisly parody of a marionette.
Ashley hadn't actually seen any kids killed during the attack, thank God. But that didn't stop her nightmares from conjuring the images for her.
She'd sat there for a minute, heart rabbiting in her throat, before checking the time. Her shift started in three hours—and there was no way in hell she'd be getting back to sleep after that. So instead Ashley had gotten out of bed to start her routine early. Showered. Dressed. Followed the siren call of morning caffeine, knowing it would shift her mind from the night's horrors.
Because deep inside her footlocker, tucked beneath armor plates and a spare uniform, sat her secret indulgence; a true, vacuum-sealed miracle:
Real, Earth-grown coffee beans.
(Look, she was a colony kid, alright? Ash couldn't point to "Costa Rica" on a map if you paid her. But whoever lived there? Saints. Bean-roasting saints.)
The galley's small kitchenette was quiet, the equipment reassuringly familiar. With practiced ease, Ashley measured the beans by eye, dumped them into the grinder, and let the smell of civilization hit her full in the face.
Her heart's frenetic rhythm was already slowing, steadying with the comfort of well-worn ritual. Grounds, filter, boiling water—it was almost meditative. Ash filled her mug, savoring the scent, and brought it to her lips.
"Got your own stash, huh?"
Ashley jerked in surprise, the liquid gold in her hands sloshing dangerously. She glanced up to see Shepard leaned against the wall, arms crossed like she'd been there the whole damn time.
...Fuck, maybe she had. Shepard was quiet, stealthy like a cat in the dark. Ash was with Joker on this one—the N in N7 stood for ninja.
(Privately, Ash thought it was hot. Or would be, if Shepard weren't so fucking annoying about it.)
(Who was she kidding? It was still hot.)
Shepard knew it, too, seemed to take pride in scaring the living daylights out of her ship's innocent crew. She smirked at Ash's reaction, lifting a lazy brow.
"So," she drawled, "this is your secret, hmm? You've been smuggling contraband." Her smirk widened.
Oh, good, her Commander was going to be an asshole at ass o' clock in the morning. "Yeah, and you almost made me waste it," Ashley retorted, shooting Shepard a narrow-eyed glare. She shifted her grip from the mug's handle to wrap both hands around it, relishing in the reassuring heat against her palms.
"God forbid you have to drink Alliance rations like the rest of us peasants," Shepard said breezily, and pushed off the wall to stroll toward the small kitchenette. She then proceeded to make her own coffee—if you could even call it that—using the Alliance's quick-rations, brewed up in seconds.
But she didn't use a mug.
Instead, Ashley watched in mounting horror as Shepard picked up the ration-sludge and tossed it back, straight from the pot.
And kept drinking.
And kept drinking.
"Jesus Christ," blurted Ash, transfixed, as Shepard guzzled the entire pot in one long swallow.
Shepard placed the empty pot back on the counter, normally, like she hadn't just done something completely insane. "Ahh," she said contentedly, smacking her lips. "That's better."
No, that was horrifying. And fascinating. Ashley stared, incredulous. "That's—you—What the fuck?"
Shepard shrugged. "Need fuel. And it's good."
"I—The whole fucking thing?"
"Don't taste that bad."
"It tastes like someone squatting over a vat of acid took a shit and swirled."
That elicited a sharp, delighted bark of laughter, and a blinding grin aimed in Ashley's direction. Teasingly, Shepard countered, "Yeah? And yours tastes any better?"
Ashley shook her head, using the banter-slash-disagreement-slash-whatever the fuck this was as cover to blink the spots out of her eyes. Jesus Christ, Shepard could've put an eye out with that smile.
"Mine," Ashley sniffed after a moment, adopting a prim tone to cover the sound of her pounding heart, "tastes like actual coffee." She took a sip. Pointedly.
And was instantly reassured, because at least her coffee was good. Ashley closed her eyes in satisfaction, missing the way Shepard's gaze tracked her swallow down the column of her throat.
When she opened them again, Shepard was staring at her with dark eyes, her expression gone blank and unreadable. Not the blank mask and polite smile she wore for politics and the Council—this was something else, something stranger. More personal.
She wasn't sure what to make of it, so Ash leaned on familiar habits: continuing to be annoying. She raised a challenging brow, savoring the residual taste of her chosen brew, and licked her lips. Just to prove a point.
But Shepard's eyes flickered down to track the movement. This time, Ashley noticed.
Something warm settled low in her gut, and it wasn't coffee.
Ashley's skin prickled under Shepard's dark gaze. She'd crossed her arms again and leaned back against the kitchenette, hips resting against the metal counter.
She didn't say anything, though, so neither did Ashley. Instead, Ashley held her mug out, offering Shepard a crooked grin. An offer, a silent challenge—care to try?
And promptly fought back a laugh, watching as Shepard's face flickered through about seventeen different emotions before settling on a cautious curiosity. For as much teasing as Shepard liked to dole out, she was terrible at being on the receiving end.
Expression laced with suspicion, Shepard slowly reached out to take the mug from Ashley's hands. Their fingers brushed as she handed Shepard the mug.
Shepard took a small, cautious sip—and froze, eyes flying open in surprise. "Holy fuck, that's good."
"Wouldn't bother smuggling contraband if it wasn't worth it," Ashley retorted. And watched, unable to look away, as Shepard took another sip.
Shepard groaned, low and breathy, in appreciation...and all of Ashley's brain processes stuttered to a halt. Her blood flash-boiled, rising to the surface; she couldn't hear her own thoughts over the roaring in her ears.
"Uh," she said intelligently.
Shepard looked up at her. Did a double take.
Something changed.
Ashley blinked, and suddenly Shepard's eyes were on her, dark and heavy-lidded, pinning her in place. Some sort of decision flickered behind those eyes, and before Ash could think to react Shepard grinned, sharp teeth flashing.
Ash watched, mesmerized, as Shepard took yet another sip. Rumbled again, deep in her throat, the sound going right to Ashley's gut.
And lower.
Ashley's fingers curled, nails scraping against the cold metal tabletop.
Shepard sipped again. "It's good coffee," she remarked, lightly, and licked her lips. "You have good taste."
A little voice in the back of Ashley's head replied, It'd taste better coming off your tongue.
Wait, shit—
Every single alarm in Ashley's brain started shrieking at full volume. Red alert, abandon ship, eject from fucking airlock, Ashley had to leave immediately before she did something she couldn't take back. She lurched to her feet, eyes wide, opening her mouth to stammer some stupid excuse—
And then Shepard was there, blocking her escape. Face-to-face with Ashley and too fucking close.
If Ash’s brain had short-circuited before, now it was a full-blown electrical fire: circuits fried, outlets sparking, every neuron catching like dry wire. There was probably smoke coming out of her ears. Her heart hammered in the hollow of her throat; but despite the racing adrenaline, Ash found she couldn't move: her fight-or-flight instinct had apparently gotten its wires crossed and landed on freeze.
Something of her panic must have shown on her face, though, because Shepard's toothy grin fell away, replaced by that maddeningly neutral expression. She stepped back, clearing her throat.
"Thank you for the coffee," she said carefully, glancing to the side. She took another step backward, angling toward the hall. "I, ah, I'll leave you to it—"
Ashley lunged.
She didn’t even know what part of her made the decision—wasn’t conscious thought, that was for damn sure. One second Shepard was retreating, voice careful and civilized, and the next Ash had a fist in her uniform collar and her mouth on Shepard’s.
It was like throwing a live wire into a pool of kerosene.
Shepard froze for a half second, startled—and then she moved, and suddenly Ash had her back pressed against the cupboard, a handle digging in between her shoulder blades. She didn't care, because there was Shepard, one hand braced against the wall, caging her in, the other gripping at her hip like she thought Ash might vanish.
And her mouth on Ashley's, kissing her for all she was worth.
Shepard kissed like she fought: hard. Teeth clashing, mouths hungry, the bitter taste of coffee rations somehow tolerable when it came from Shepard's tongue. Shepard bit her lip and Ashley swore, then dug her nails into Shepard's shoulder and pulled her closer. Her other hand yanked at thick canvas, Alliance uniform shirt coming untucked to expose toned muscle and soft skin. Sinking her nails into Shepard's waist was rewarded with a guttural groan, hot and heavy against Ashley's mouth.
Ashley growled, wanting...fuck, she didn't know what she wanted. No, actually, that wasn't right—she didn't know how to decide. She wanted Shepard closer, body heat mingling with her own. She wanted to explore every inch of Shepard's skin, feel the planes of hard muscle pressed against her. She wanted Shepard to touch her, those strong gun-calloused hands roaming beneath her waistband—
Nevermind. Ash knew exactly what she wanted.
Without breaking their kiss, Ashley shoved at Shepard's shoulders, driving her backwards into the kitchenette's island counter. Force meet object: Shepard and the table collided, a near-silent oof huffed into Ashley's mouth. Shepard threw an arm out behind her to steady herself, bracing against the table.
Ceramic shattered against metal decking, loud and ringing in the silence.
They pulled apart, turning in unison to look. Shepard winced. "Shit, your coffee—" The dark liquid had splattered across the deck, the mug's remains scattered near the sleeping pods.
And that was when Ashley found, suddenly, that she could not give less of a shit, because there was something far more important to be doing.
"Skipper," Ash said, and Shepard turned to face her once more.
Shit, was that guilt on her face? "Ash—"
Yep, definitely guilt. Ashley interrupted what was certainly the start of an unnecessary apology with zero remorse, her eyes boring into Shepard's. "Take me to your fucking bed," she demanded.
And...oh.
Seriously, if Shepard kept smiling that brightly, Ash was gonna end up blind.