Chapter Sixty-Nine:

In Which Emotions Fluctuate

The damn locker was as hard to open as ever. It took all of Shepard's self-control not to pound his head against the thing. Not that it mattered whether or not he ever managed to get it open. Almost ten years had passed since the last time he'd had any red sand on him. More than ten years, maybe, actually, now that he stopped to think about it.

Anyway, he'd only ever kept the little kit he used to shoot up in with the rest of his toiletries. On those occasions when he'd stumbled into a shelter on Elysium and had clean clothes and a toothbrush pressed on him. And his shaving kit was safely ensconced in the so-small-it-was-almost-invisible closet in his laughably tiny bathroom. So even if he had had drugs, when he opened the locker, there wouldn't be anything worth caring about in it.

This urge was the dangerous sort, he remembered being told time and again during his two months in rehab, during his who-cared-how-many-years sober. Ignore it for too long, pretend it wasn't there, and it would rise up to take control. If he didn't face it, didn't stand up to it, it would run roughshod over him, drag him away from the person he'd worked hard to become and turn him back into the person he'd fought so hard to leave behind.

The right thing to do would be to find a meeting somewhere on the Citadel. Or call his sponsor. The Normandy was grounded, he didn't have the excuse that he couldn't get in touch. He wondered if his sponsor would remember him. He didn't give a shit. The world was going to end soon, and he'd tried everything he could think of to stop it, and nothing had worked.

He didn't want to be sober when the Reapers got here. Although if he ended up high, he might not remember to yell 'I told you so!' at the Council right before they were all killed.

"Fucking hell!" he roared, slamming a fist against the locker as his biotics flared. "Open the fuck up!"

"Tsk, tsk. Watch that language, soldier. The commander'll write you up and ground you if he hears you swearing."

Shepard's shoulders rolled forward. Of all the people to catch him, of course it had to be Ash. Most of the crew had taken advantage of being grounded to catch some shore leave on the Citadel. He'd even seen Wrex and Liara head off with Serviceman Vega and a couple of the other enlisted crewmembers. As far as he'd been aware, aside from Joker and himself, the ship had been empty.

The last of his self-restraint went into getting his biotics under control and keeping himself from ramming his head into the useless locker. He turned around and slumped against the locker, not even bothering to glance up at Ashley.

She took a few steps closer to him. "How are you holding up, Skipper?" She sounded concerned. The irrational urge to punch something in the face rose in Shepard again. He didn't need comfort, didn't want it. He didn't deserve it.

"I don't want to talk about it!" he snapped. He needed to be alone. Ashley had religion; he didn't, much as he wanted that sort of reassurance. The world was going to end soon: within days, if not hours. He needed to be alone to make his peace with that. He needed to be alone so that he could figure out whether or not he believed he might see the rest of his family soon. If he did, then the galaxy could burn for all he cared.

Telling himself lies didn't work as well as it used to.

Funny how he'd spent so long after Mindoir trying to die and now that he was about to get his wish, he was scared out of his wits and mad as all get-out, and for the first time in who knew how long he just didn't want to die at all.

She nudged his foot with the toe of her boot. "Just going right to the surly part of this, are you? And not even taking the time to compliment me for not saying 'I told you so.' I know I'm impressed with my restraint."

He opened his mouth to tell her to just go away already, and that this really wasn't the time. Not for jokes, not for whatever weird flirting thing they'd had going on since practically the first instant he saw her, not for anything but self-pity and preparation for inevitable doom. Then he glanced up. She was just… there. Looking down at him with this tiny worried line pulling at the left corner of her mouth. Big eyes dark and soft and there for him. He glanced up at Ash, and realized that he couldn't look at her without thinking about how beautiful she was.

How much of his reluctance to accept the fact that he was going to die had to do with the woman standing in front of him?

Almost all of it.

"Shit," he hissed.

"Wow, you're just breaking all of your own rules today, aren't you?"

He frowned, pulling his knees up to his chest and tucking his face into them, like a child. His bootlaces stared back at him, best as they could. "I thought they'd listen," he mumbled. "I really thought the Council would listen to me. God, I'm such an idiot—"

"Hey, hey!" Ashley crouched down next to him, barely hesitating before placing warm hands on his knee and the side of his face. He glanced up, startled at the gentle, intimate contact. "You're an optimist, Skipper. Not an idiot. I might make fun of you, but…if more people were like you, maybe we wouldn't need Spectres or soldiers."

"Looking to get out of the game, Chief?"

She grinned at him. "What game? The end of the world'll be here in a few hours. Any retirement plan I try for isn't going to last me very long."

"The world isn't going to end." He reached out to put one of his own hands over the one cupping his cheek. "I promise; I'll do whatever I can to stop Saren."

"There's the Shepard I know. I was wondering when he'd get here." Ashley shifted her weight so that she could stand more easily. "I'd hate to have followed him this far for him to just up and disappear."

"I'm not going anywhere, Ash."

"I know." Her hands slid slowly away from him as she stood up. "And I—For what it's worth," she sighed and squared her shoulders, "I…want you to be happy. So, whatever you need, I'm there." A hand stretched towards Shepard. "Sound good?"

He grabbed onto her hand like it was his last link to the world, grateful that she didn't flinch even though he was holding onto her too tightly. "Yeah." With quiet grunt of effort, she pulled him to his feet. "Yeah, that—"

Maybe he'd underestimated her strength, maybe he'd tucked his feet too close to his body, maybe…. Well, the maybes didn't matter so much. All that mattered was that suddenly their faces were inches apart, and Ash's breath smelled incredible, and her lips looked softer than anything, and the world was probably going to end soon, so…screw the regs.

He swallowed and leaned in a little, smiling when she didn't pull away. She was still holding his hand. "That sounds…."

"Sorry to interrupt, Commander," the sound of Joker's voice booming over the intercom wreaked havoc on whatever was left of Shepard's courage. He jumped away from Ashley like a frightened rabbit. She scowled and shook her head at the commander, not letting go of his hand. "Got a message for you from Captain Anderson. Want me to run it down to you?"

"Does he sounds smug to you? He sounds smug to me," Ashley grumbled. "I'm going to break his legs into little pieces."

Shepard grinned and squeezed her hand. "That's all right, Joker," he called. "I'll be right there."

"Sounds good. See you in a few."

"That jackass has the worst timing."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed. Feeling bold, he lifted their clasped hands and kissed the inside of Ashley's wrist before letting her go. "Thanks," he whispered.

To his utter shock, the woman was blushing. "Always happy to kick your ass, Skipper," she mumbled.

Author's Note: Thanks to all of you who've been sticking with me during this long hiatus. This chapter is for you, with gratitude. A special shout-out to my old friends from the BSN. Yale, look, I followed through!