Chapter 9: God's Finger Touched Him, and He Slept

Around the five hour mark, Ashley felt the rippling waves of insanity closing in on her mind. She slowly paced the room, quietly humming some tune she didn't really know. She couldn't even remember where she'd heard it. She stared periodically out the window. There was less smoke now. Most of the fires had been put out. Most of the monsters had been incinerated away, never to be more than a future nightmare in the middle of a restless sleep.

Ashley felt like she didn't even need sleep anymore. She tried to count the hours in the last couple days that she'd slept. Between reports, coordinating with the crew, thinking of her family, spending time with her newly widowed sister, and occasionally eating, she'd only had time for one other thing - obsessing over Shepard's fate.

She slid her boots across the floor, shuffling back and forth. Admiral Shepard had gone to the Normandy to get a hot meal, a shower, and maybe even an hour of sleep. She'd been in transit for so long, and they still had no idea when John would come out of surgery. Ashley had insisted she use the quarters on the Normandy as her own. Liara had excused herself with the Admiral to help her get more settled and introduce her to the crew.

Ashley decided that she liked Admiral Hannah Shepard. She seemed like a resolute woman. She was certainly brilliant, one of the Alliance's best strategists. Her elegant features and fair skin seemed more suited for a life of luxury and leisure, and yet she had the eyes of an admiral. They were the same blue as John's and looked like they'd seen their fair share of bad, but even they seemed less tired than the much younger ones of her son.

Everyone had seen a lot of war by now, she thought. There were children everywhere that would carry the same haunted look in their eyes as a seasoned marine for the rest of their lives. The pain would fade through the generations, but nothing would ever be the same in the galaxy.

The stiffness in her neck called for a vigorous side to side crack. A gaping yawn followed as she stretched her long arms above her head. It had been less than twenty minutes she'd been alone in this empty room with John's empty bed before Ashley had started feeling the crushing grip of desperate loneliness.

I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.

Tennyson's words stirred her out of her numb monotony and she took a long, deep breath, letting her eyes flutter shut. She exhaled her restlessness and turned to flop down in the chair behind her, the only real action she could muster. She felt the air within her escape her body as she slouched, not even caring that her shirt had bunched up to reveal an inch of her tan tummy.

Just as she felt like a shriek of helpless boredom would escape her, Miranda entered the room. Ashley didn't even remember springing to her feet, though the few steps toward the severe woman seemed to take a million years. Once again, she was unable to read the expression on Miranda's face, but she looked tired. Ashley felt a thousand fingers tighten around her heart when she realized Miranda's eyes were red, puffed up from what could have only been since wiped away tears. Her own eyes widened, fixated on the cloudy blue ones before her. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask, but no noise came out.

And then Miranda smiled.

"He's out of surgery." Miranda's voice was hoarse, sleepy, but clearly happy. "He's in recovery." Ashley exhaled a breath she had been holding for days, resisting the urge to throw her arms around the woman who was practically a stranger to her. She swallowed; composing herself before Miranda thankfully spoke again. "Chakwas is with him if you'd like to see him."

The ache at the back of Ashley's throat, the kind that threatened tears was swallowed away suddenly. "Thanks," was all she could choke out before nodding and making her way to the recovery wing.

"Recovery" was more like a section of the floor they'd quartered off to house post op patients. There was nothing more sterile about it than the regular rooms, though Ashley supposed it felt better to think there was. She hadn't even realize how much her entire body was shaking until she saw her hand in front of her face, poised to pull aside the grey curtain.

When she did so, her vision tunneled, and there she saw John, shirtless, broken, his entire torso covered with small stitched incisions, the entry ways for the tools that would rid him of the implants that were nothing more now than a poison to his body. His bruises and other injuries were still a sickening purple, and there seemed very little of his own skin color that peeked through those. His face was pale, and a sheen of sweat covered his black and blue brow.

She didn't know how long she'd been standing there staring at him before she felt the hand of Karin Chakwas squeeze her arm. She finally turned her attention to her. Today the beautiful older woman looked twenty years older than she was, but her smile was reassuring to Ashley.

"There were some scares," Chakwas' steady voice seemed as energetic as ever. "But once we got toward the home stretch it looked good. He still has a fever, but he's responding well to the antibi-"

Ashley interrupted her by throwing her arms around her and squeezing as hard as she could. It was no surprise that the good doctor immediately reciprocated with a grip that rivaled Ashley's own. The two women stood there for a few long seconds before Ashley blinked away her first real threatening tear.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I...thank you."

Chakwas gently extracted herself from the hug and affectionately touched Ashley's now red face.

The two of them almost immediately returned to a semi-professional stance, a habit born out of their time serving together.

"Thank me when he wakes up," Chakwas said.

Ashley moved to Shepard's side and gingerly touched his forehead. He was clammy and cold to her, but not nearly as deathly as he had been when she'd first found him. Her lips found his forehead softly and rested there for just a second before she stood up straight, cleared her throat, and turned back to Chakwas.

"But he is going to wake up..." She prompted.

Chakwas exhaled and rubbed the back of her own neck. "I'm supposed to tell you that anything can happen, that his body might suddenly take a turn for the worst, that we could still lose him."

"But..." Ashley's hand was somehow already gripping Shepard's.

"In my medical opinion he's not out of the woods. He needs time and more care. There's no telling when or even if he'll wake up." She smiled. "But in my person opinion, and from what I know of the Commander, he'd been very disappointed in us if we gave up on him now."

Ashley's lips spread wide to form a smile at Dr. Chakwas. "You should get some rest."

Chakwas groaned. "Oh yes. I'm headed to an empty room now to sleep for a couple of hours. The nurses will get me if anything changes, but he's stable now. I hate to say it but they'll probably ask you to leave this area. There's not a whole lot of room for visitors." She patted Ashley on the shoulder. "Why don't you take the time to shower and get some sleep yourself?"

The thought of leaving him now, now that he could wake up any minute seemed like torture to Ashley. She knew it was wishful thinking. His body would need time to repair itself and he was in good hands. She reluctantly let go of his hand and followed Chakwas out into the hallway.

Miranda sat, hair down and messy, leaning her elbows on her knees. She stood when they approached and Chakwas continued on, headed to the nearest closet with a bed, ready to pass out.

"Miranda. I know you didn't do this for me... but thank you just the same." It was simple enough and well-meaning and Miranda seemed to nod in appreciation.

"He would have wanted me to do the same for you," Miranda dismissed. "And you're welcome." The two exchanged a nod, and then Ashley started for the elevator. She hadn't gotten very far when she heard Miranda's voice again. "He said your name, you know..."

Ashley turned slowly to Miranda. "What?"

A flash of something, maybe regret flashed over Miranda's face as if she suddenly didn't want to elaborate, but knew that she now she had to. "Not in there. Not here. Back when he first came back."

When he first came back. Miranda was talking about when she'd brought him back from the dead. Goosebumps rose on Ashley's skin and Miranda seemed to squirm, as if she was fighting through her discomfort at revealing something so personal and intimate.

"When he woke up... he was disoriented, barely conscious. He reached up for my face...and he managed to whisper your name." Miranda shrugged. "Just thought you'd like to know is all." She turned then, rather brusquely and made her escape in the opposite direction, leaving Ashley with the weight of the thought.

Two years. Dead. And his first thought was of her. She gave in to the weakening of her knees and sat in a chair. Knowing it made no difference really, and yet somehow it was so important, so revealing and so precious to her that she was overwhelmed by it.

Instead of heading back to the Normandy right away, instead of leaving the building, Ashley finally surrendered to her long threatening tears, and she let them come.