Chapter Twenty-Nine
In Which There is Poetry
If she was going to live in one place forever, Ashley thought, the Citadel would be either the best or the worst place she could choose. On the one hand, there were thousands—no, millions—of people here, which meant plenty of shops, museums, restaurants, night spots, and everything else that made a city exciting. (Garrus had told her about a new club, Flux, that had opened in the Wards not long ago; apparently half of C-Sec had been there on opening night, and her turian crewmate assured Ashley that the establishment was well worth the inevitable wait in line to get in). On the other hand, millions of people lived on the Citadel. Which meant there was a line for everything.
The Normandy had gotten into dock early that morning. The first thing the commander had done had been to grant everyone three full days of leave. After making sure her duties were all fully squared away, Ashley had made a beeline for the Alliance Military headquarters, eager to retrieve her personal effects that had arrived from Eden Prime while the Normandy was out in the Traverse.
And she'd been stuck in this God-forsaken antechamber ever since. It was worse than when she'd waited with Lynne for her sister to get her license renewed. Just another reason to hate bureaucracy.
Ironic, really, that I've been here waiting to pick up my reading materials, when what you really need to get you through a long wait is a good book. For the umpteenth time, Ashley examined her fellows in purgatory, wondering if there was someone here worth talking to. I should have bullied Joker into coming with me. The pilot had made it clear that he did not intend to budge from the cockpit, apparently personally offended that Shepard had decided that the Normandy could benefit more from rest and maintenance than from flying halfway across the galaxy again.
The serviceman sitting alone behind the wide desk that could easily have held three more bureaucratic drudges called another name off the list in front of him. It wasn't Gunnery Chief Ashley M. Williams. Ashley groaned and slumped back in her chair, wishing it were possible for the stupid thing to suddenly become comfortable.
"Here," the dark-skinned, light-haired man who had occasionally met Ashley's eyes over the top of his newspaper held the 'Arts and Entertainment' section out to her. When she took the pages from him, a pen fell to the ground. "You look like the type of person who enjoys completing the crossword." He shrugged. "I have already done the Sudoku." There was something vaguely familiar about the man's voice, but she shrugged off the suspicion—he had a heavy accent, she was probably just being racist.
"You're my hero," she said, picking the pen off the floor. "I had no idea I'd have to wait here for so long…. I'm just here to pick up my things. They were shipped here from my last post."
"Why did you not bring your things with you when you were transferred?"
Ashley gave a half-laugh. "I was stationed on Eden Prime. After the attack—" she looked away, consciously not thinking about Eden Prime. "My transfer was… a little unusual. I didn't have enough time to retrieve my things from the main base. Believe it or not, this is the first time my stuff and I have been in the same place in two months."
"Eden Prime…" The lines on the man's face deepened. "My wife was a marine. She was in the 212 on Eden Prime."
She realized how she recognized his voice. Oh God, why couldn't I just have been being racist? "The 212? Your wife was Serviceman Nirali Bhatia?"
He looked startled. "I—yes! I am Samesh Bhatia. Did you know Nirali?"
"I'm Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams. I served in her unit."
"Chief Williams, it is a pleasure." The smile Samesh gave Ashley was too quick to be genuine, but the sorrowful warmth in his voice was sincere enough. "Nirali spoke of you with great respect."
You are not going to cry in public. Nirali had always seemed a little reserved, as though unsure of how to relate to her squad-leader. Ashley was a career marine; Nirali had been in the Deferred Education Plan, paying off her masters in business administration in advance by serving in the Alliance military. Truth be told, Ashley had thought Nirali looked down on her for not wanting anything more than to be a marine. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Bhatia." Ashley silently apologized to Nirali as well. "Nirali was a good woman. Are you here to pick up her things?"
Samesh shook his head. "The Alliance was good enough to mail all of Nirali's possessions to our home. I have plenty of objects," he spat. "No, Chief Williams, I have been coming here every day since my arrival on the Citadel a month ago, hoping that the military has finally seen fit to fulfill my request and release Nirali's body to me for cremation."
"They what?" Ashley frowned. "They're refusing to release her body to you? That's bullshit! Why? Have they at least given you a reason?"
"No! I know nothing. All they will say is that it is impossible for my wife's body to be returned to me." The misery on Samesh's face infuriated Ashley. How dare these idiotic pencil pushers treat a soldier's grieving husband this way?
"I'm so sorry." You said that already. How about you try being useful? "Is there anything I might be able to do?" Because the brass will just jump to it if Ashley Williams puts in a request? Did the universe fundamentally change when you weren't looking?
His face took on a hopeful cast. "You would know better than I whether you might be able to persuade the Diplomatic Corps to grant my petition. The man I have been speaking with is a Mr. Charles Bosker. He has not been responsive to my arguments, but perhaps a fellow member of the Alliance would be effective where a civilian has not."
"Charles Bosker. Diplomatic Corps." Ashley repeated. "Got it." Getting his hopes up like this doesn't make you a hero, Williams; it makes you an asshole. "I'll see if I can speak with him when they finally call me up. If they ever call me up."
"I cannot thank you enough, Chief Williams. I am sure you will be successful. Our meeting like this cannot have been a coincidence." Samesh stood, offering the rest of his newspaper to Ashley. "If you will forgive me for burdening you with this—"
"It's not a burden. Nirali was part of my squad. It's my responsibility to her."
"You may feel that way, Chief Williams, but many would not be so willing to admit their duty to the—to the dead." He smiled, a real one this time. "Nirali said you were very honorable. It was one of the things she admired most about you." With a nod of his head, he turned to leave.
Ashley could feel her heart breaking for Samesh, Nirali, the 212, even for herself, a little. "Samesh—" He stopped. "I don't know if this helps, but your wife… Nirali loved you very much. She missed your cooking, and she played recordings of you every night before she went to sleep."
"I know, Chief Williams, but thank you. It is nice to hear it again."
"Who was that, Williams? A new friend? An old friend? An old flame? A current flame? Have you been holding out on me?" Shepard had appeared out of nowhere; looking—and acting—like a completely different person in his dress uniform.
"If I didn't know better, Skipper, I'd say you were asking to be written up for fraternization. As it stands, I'm just going to assume that you're still sleep deprived."
"Technically we're off-duty Ash." He emphasized his use of her nickname as though proving a point.
"You know as well as I do that being off-duty has nothing to do with it, Commander." She hit his title just as hard. It was one thing for her to occasionally flirt with her CO, but it was another thing entirely for her CO to suddenly start flirting with her. Yes, she knew she was being hypocritical, but she was damned if she was going to be transferred off the Normandy for something as stupid as fraternizing with the commander.
Shepard smiled disarmingly and raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry, Chief Williams. I was only joking." He paused, clearly waiting for his charming apology to win her forgiveness. Ashley crossed her arms and said nothing; he sighed. "So why are you wasting your leave here instead of in the more exciting corners of the Citadel?"
"I was just here to pick up my things; they're here from Eden Prime. But then I bumped into Mr. Bhatia… the man I was talking to? He's the husband of one of my old squad members." Ashley briefly outlined Samesh's problem, and his hope that she might be able to help. Although she felt guilty for promising to help when her intervention could actually make things worse for Samesh, telling Shepard had the benefit of transforming the commander back into his usual, serious self.
"That's a rough situation, Williams," he said when Ashley had finished.
"I have to try and help. I owe it to Nirali." She paused, pushing back the grief she hadn't realized was still so close to the surface. "How about you, sir? Why aren't you off having fun?"
"Fun?" He raised a very skeptical eyebrow. "I'm the CO. While you all have fun, I handle administrative duties. I already spent the morning placating Admiral Mikhailovich during his inspection of the Normandy and arranging to have the ship resupplied. Later I'm supposed to go talk with the Consort… not sure if that counts as fun. Is there something wrong with me if I really hope that she meant it when her note said she just needed help with a problem? If I hope that it's not an invitation—I'm not comfortable—" He blushed at Ashley's raised eyebrows and quickly changed the subject.
"Right now though, I'm here to file our mineral findings and to hand-deliver the Sparta system mission report to Admiral Kahoku. Actually," he glanced at the clock on the wall, "I'm late. See you later, Chief."
Ashley had finished the crossword, the word jumble, and the chess puzzle by the time Shepard reappeared in the waiting room.
"You're still here, Williams?" he frowned. "How long have you been waiting, exactly?"
"I got here as soon as I could after we docked. Maybe I've been here since…1030?"
"It's almost 1600 now. This is ridiculous. Has everyone here been waiting as long as you have?"
She didn't say anything, just shrugged. It had been hours since she'd started to suspect that her name had been purposely bumped to the bottom of the list, but she wasn't about to tell Shepard that.
"Hold on," he ordered. "I'll handle this." Before she could protest that she was perfectly capable of handling things herself, he was towering over the pencil pusher. After a few minutes, he returned, shaking his head in disgust. "Some people," he told Ashley.
As she opened her mouth to tell him it was no big deal, the clerk called her name. She gaped at the commander.
"Go ahead," he grinned. "I'll wait for you."
Claiming her belongings was no problem. Trying to find out about Nirali's body was another matter. The serviceman refused to page Mr. Bosker, saying he was in meetings all day. In the end, Ashley had to settle for leaving the man a message asking him to contact her. Exasperated, she shouldered her duffel bag and hoisted the box of her books, reminding herself to be grateful that she'd accomplished this much.
Not that you did it on your own, she thought sullenly when she turned to find the commander watching her expectantly.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
"Ready." Her duffel slid off her shoulder, jerking her entire body towards the ground. She kept her grip on her books—just barely—and tried to reposition the strap in a place that wouldn't break her arm if she left it there for the entirety of the trek back to the Normandy.
"Let me help you with that." Without waiting for her permission, Shepard took the books from her. Too tired to argue over her ability to carry her own things without help, Ashley let him.
He grunted. "This is heavy. What's in here?" He let her hold the door for him as he waited for her response.
"Mostly books, sir."
"It feels like you've got half the Elysium public library in here. Anything really good, Williams?"
Ashley took a breath to say yes, but instead what came out was, "'I cannot rest from travel: I will drink/Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed/Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those/That loved me, and alone….'" Suddenly shy, she trailed off.
"Never thought I'd hear you reciting poetry," Shepard said noncommittally.
"Hey!" She punched him lightly on the arm; not too hard, after all, he was carrying her things. "Just because I can drill you between the eyes at a hundred meters doesn't mean I can't like sensitive stuff!" The commander raised an eyebrow at her and chuckled. "Um…don't spread it around, though."
"I think I could manage not to embarrass my gunnery chief, sure, Williams. Tell me though, what was that? I'm not much for poetry."
"Ulysses. By Tennyson? It was my dad's favorite poem. Every time he shipped out, he recorded me reading it. He had a dozen versions when he retired."
"Your dad the marine?"
"Why is it so surprising to you that a marine can like poetry? You like those old-fashioned cowboy books."
"Cowboy books?"
"My Antonia, Shane…. Your mom named you after a book and you said your dad named your sister after Willa Cather, didn't he?" Ashley had not been paying an unusual amount of attention to the things Shepard said to her… she just had a good memory. Yep, mind like a steel trap, that's all it was.
The commander narrowed his eyes at her. "I find it very suspicious that you remember all that."
"You told me you trust me to watch your back, right, Skipper? A marine has to know these things about her commander so she can predict how easily he'll be misled by an enemy ambush disguised as a rare-books convention."
Shepard laughed. "You see that as a big risk, do you?"
"You can never tell."
"Fair enough. So tell me, if Ulysses was your father's favorite, what's yours?"
They were standing by one of the too-numerous elevators, waiting to travel down to the market level of the wards. While Ashley considered her response, a blond man ran up to Shepard. Rolling his eyes at Ashley, the commander gave the man an autograph and even agreed to pose for a picture.
"No, I can't pose with my gun, I'm afraid. I can't put this box down. Tell you what I can do though, Conrad. How about if we add Chief Williams here to the holo?" The expression on Shepard's face made it clear that he was doing this so he wouldn't be suffering alone. "She's on the Normandy's crew. One of my best officers." Considering the small number of officers on the Normandy, it was easy for Ashley not to read too much into the compliment.
"You are a bad man, Skipper," she murmured to him as the fan arranged the two marines to his liking and snapped the holo.
"I have no idea what you mean," he said innocently, waving at Conrad as the man dashed off, probably to post the picture on his Spacebook page.
The elevator finally arrived, and they stepped inside. "You haven't answered my question," Shepard pointed out. "Favorite poem, go. Don't think!"
"'My heart is wasted with my woe/Oriana/There is no rest for me below/Oriana/When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with snow/And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow/Oriana/Alone I wander to and fro/Oriana.'"
"And that's called… Oriana?"
"No wonder they made you a Spectre. Nothing gets by you, does it, Skipper? Another Tennyson. It's about a soldier whose shot goes wide and kills his love where she's standing to watch the battle. And then he tries to die, but can't. He's too guilty to face her in the next life; he goes mad."
Shepard raised his eyebrows high on his forehead and gestured for her to leave the elevator first. "That's a little dark, Chief."
"Just be glad I'm not more like my mom. She prefers Plath. 'Soon, soon the flesh/The grave cave ate will be/At home on me?'"
"See, this is why I stick to prose. That stuff is terrifying."
"Afraid, Skipper? Don't worry; you know I'll protect you."
"Yeah but who'll protect me from you?" he muttered sullenly.
"Aw c'mon. Don't be such a wuss. It's not all scary. Here, stop for a second." They stepped out of the press of the crowd, into one of the viewing alcoves that dotted the wards. Ashley pulled the lid off the box and rooted through the books until she found the one she was looking for. "Do you know what bibliomancy is?"
"What's what now?"
"Put down the box for a second and take this." Ashley handed him the anthology. "Now close your eyes and think of a question that's been on your mind lately. Got it?
"Open the book to any page. Now point to a part of the page. Okay!" She put her finger on the spot and took the book back. "Open your eyes. We can keep going now."
"What was all that?"
"A game my dad liked. You get advice about how to handle your problems from a book." She smiled. "I think he taught it to me so I wouldn't miss his being gone so much.
"So, you wanna hear your answer?"
"Do I have to tell you the question?"
"No. Why, is it really stupid? Damn, I should have said 'Yes.' You don't have to tell me, but feel free to tell me anyway though."
"Sorry Williams, not telling. Go ahead."
Ashley glanced down at the page, following Shepard towards the elevator that would take them back to the Normandy's berth. Just as she started reading, the commander shook his head. His eyes were fixed on someone ahead of them.
"Darn it! Belay that a minute, would you, Ash," he muttered. "Aw, man!"
A human woman dressed in a fashionable asari-style gown was bearing down on them. Over her shoulder hovered a robot that looked too much like a geth drone for Ashley's comfort.
"Commander Shepard!" she shouted. "Commander!" Shepard closed his eyes and ran a hand over his hair, clearly not wanting to talk to her.
"I've been waiting for you to return to your ship all day, Commander." Her voice was accusatory, as though the commander's absence was a plot to inconvenience her. "Khalisa bint Sinan Al-Jilani, Westerlund News. I'd like you to answer a few questions for our viewers."
"I'm sorry, Ms. Al-Jilani, but I'd prefer not to—"
"You recently gave an interview to Anya Lang of the BBC. Westerlund News is admittedly not as influential as the BBC, but surely you don't mean to show favoritism to the more long-established news outlets." The clicking noise that came from the woman's robot made Ashley suspect that this entire encounter was being filmed. The same thought had clearly occurred to Shepard. He glanced at the machine and pulled back his shoulders.
"First, let me point out that Ms. Lang and her crew were producing a publicity vid at the request of the Alliance Military. I try to avoid all reporters equally. However, despite my being in a bit of a hurry, and with your understanding that there may be questions that I can't answer, I suppose I could—"
"Excellent!" she cut him off again; the camera drone turned a spotlight on Shepard. Ashley hastily stepped out of the line of fire.
"People back home have heard a lot of wild stories about you, Commander," Al-Jilani began. "But Westerlund News would like to provide you with the opportunity to set the record straight." With that, the woman launched into a series of probing questions, all slanted to make the commander seem like a shill for the Council. Ashley watched, impressed, as Shepard refused to respond to the woman's goading. Instead, he kept his shoulders tight and tirelessly reiterated his belief that humanity needed to cooperate with other species in order to progress.
A little naive, aren't you, Skipper? Apparently, Al-Jilani agreed. "You're an idealist Commander," she sneered at the close of the interview, "but a sincere one. I hope you're right. The eyes of Earth are on you," Al-Jilani continued, as her droid cameraman shut down. "Don't let us down." Satisfied with the encounter, she walked away.
Shepard was scowling when he turned back to Ashley. "I knew all this would start up again if they made me a Spectre," he said. "You didn't have to wait for me, you know."
She shook her head. "With all due respect, Skipper, I'm supposed to be watching your back, remember? That was a hostile encounter if ever I've seen one. And besides, don't you want to hear the answer to your question?"
"I'm amazed I still remember my question." He shifted the box and pushed the elevator button. "Lay it on me."
Ashley looked down at the page she'd been holding open and frowned. "I, ah, I don't remember which passage you picked, sir. The poem's not long though, is reading the whole thing all right?"
"Go ahead."
"'Promise me no promises/So will I not promise you/Keep we both our liberties/Never false and never true/Let us hold the die uncast/Free to come as free to go/For I cannot know your past/And of mine what can you know?
"You, so warm, may once have been/Warmer towards another one/I, so cold may once have seen/Sunlight, once have felt the sun/Who shall show us if it was/Thus indeed in times of old?/Fades the image from the glass/And the fortune is not told.
"If you promised, you might grieve/For lost liberty again/If I promised, I believe/I should fret to break the chain/Let us be the friends we were/Nothing more but nothing less/Many thrive on frugal fare/Who would perish of excess.'"
When she finished reading, Ashley glanced up at Shepard. He was staring absently ahead, not noticing that the elevator had slid open, waiting for him to enter.
"Skipper? Commander? Citadel to Shepard?" She laughed and pushed him into the elevator ahead of her. "These things take long enough without you adding to them, sir."
Shepard finally blinked and smiled at her. "Sorry, Williams. I was just thinking. That was… frustratingly on point."
"At least it didn't scare you," she quipped.
"I didn't say that. I mean… that poem was really relevant. Freaky."
"I'll say it again, sir. There's nothing to be afraid of, so long as you've got me here to keep an eye on you."
From where he slouched against the elevator wall, Shepard broke into a full smile. "I never should have told you that. You're not gonna let me forget it, are you?"
"Not during this lifetime, Skipper."
"At least she remembers I'm her commanding officer, not the kid she's supposed to babysit," Shepard told the box.
"Just my commanding officer, huh? We'll have to see about that." Too late, Ashley realized how easy it would be to take her comment as a come on. Especially since she'd sort of meant to flirt. Pretending she wasn't embarrassed, she met Shepard's gaze. The expression on his face made her wish she hadn't; he didn't look irritated, offended, or even amused. He looked…. She didn't want to think about how he looked. That way laid problems.
"What're you saying, Williams?"
She practically ran past him out of the elevator. "Me? I'm not saying anything, Skipper." Without meeting his gaze, she pulled the box out of his grip. "Thanks for the help, sir. Didn't mean to take up so much of your time."
"No worries. I'll talk to you later, Williams."
Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea. "Looking forwards to it, Skipper," her traitor mouth replied.
Author's Note: Bonus update! As promised! And it's the longest chapter I've written. And it's my personal favorite so far! (I know what you're all thinking: it's a trap! I'm fairly sure it's not, however). As always, thanks for reading this far.
The poems referenced in this chapter are: Ulysses, by Tennyson; Oriana, by Tennyson; Lady Lazarus, by Silvia Plath; Promises Like Piecrust, by Christina Rossetti.
