I'm extremely sorry about the delay, my friends. Has it really been almost a year since I last updated...? I know some of you have kept tabs on this story and wondered if it's dead (I know this because some of you contacted me, forcing me to get my butt in gear, and for that I thank you). Everyone else, thank you for patiently waiting. I suppose I should explain myself to you all.

I'm sorry to be the bearer of this news, but the reason why I haven't updated in so long is because my old laptop died on me last year and I lost all of my fanfiction files on it. (Forget all the "I told you so's"; I've heard them all already and I've adequately kicked myself for not backing up my files like a smart person does.) My outlines, my future chapters, my unpublished stories... All are gone. You have no idea how unhappy this makes me. I've tried home remedies to reanimate my old hard-drive, even took it to my university's IT people, but nothing has proved successful. Honestly, I'm not sure if I'll be able to continue this story at all since writing what I've already written and lost is extremely difficult for some reason. However, I'm willing to try if even one person encourages me to do so. I've become rather resigned to this horrible outcome, but if any of you have a suggestion, I'd be glad to hear it. As to my hard-drive, I was told that some kind of tray in the hard-drive was damaged and that it's a difficult fix.

Luckily, I managed to save most of this chapter and some of the next one. After that, there's nothing. I would've published sooner if I hadn't been so discouraged by the loss of my other files. Plus, my studies were extremely difficult last semester (Chemistry, ugh!) and my family has run into some major problems I've had to deal with. Let's just say that life has hit me and my writing hard. Again, I must apologize. A thousand times, I'm sorry! :(

This chapter is a little short and off-topic, but it is necessary if I ever get around to writing the later chapters. Honestly, I think it's horrible. But I guess I just need to get back into the full swing of writing again. Moreover, it sheds a little insight on my Shep's background. Anyway, enjoy. *hides from the hate-reviews that are sure to follow*

Chapter Eight :

Through the Silence and the Sounds

oOoOo

Today, there was no banter between squad-mates. Not even between Wrex and Vakarian. There were no words of kindness, or comfort, from Tali. No forth-coming wisdom from LT Alenko. Instead, the SSV Normandy ran on continual silence for its grieving CO.

In it, Ashley could've sworn that she was able to hear the steady beat of her heart, the sound of air passing through her barely-parted lips, Garrus and Tali's whispered argument over how to best amplify the Mako's power output (or something like that, she inwardly amended), the muffled thrum of a distant ventilation unit as it came online . . . and still Shepard said nothing.

In the end, she could hardly blame him; Ontarom was still a painfully fresh wound. And . . . to be honest, she hadn't handled Eden Prime much better after the adrenaline wore off. But that wasn't what was bothering her now. Really, it wasn't. What bothered her now was the crew. Like most vessels, gossip spread like wildfire on the Normandy, and they seemed hell-bent on dancing around Shepard, letting human (and alien) sentiment interfere with their day-to-day operations. It was crazy. Total silence fell upon any room he entered, crewmen scurried out of his way like frightened rodents, and there were engineers coming to her and Alenko with concerns that Shepard normally handled.

Christ! They were treating him like a goddamned child, like some delicate piece of china, or something . . . something that he clearly wasn't. What, was he about to spontaneously combust or something? He'd already proven himself to be a survivor, and their antics were enough to make her lip curl. All he needed now was a friend to lean on and some time. Nothing more.

And this silence . . .? It made her wish that she knew what it is she could say, just to end it. Unfortunately, no poem felt right for the occasion, and (somehow) saying "I'm sorry" just doesn't seem like it'd be enough. In some ways, it never is.

For now, however, the man in question was sitting behind her, back-to-back upon a bench in the hangar, having volunteered to split her official work-load, fifty-fifty. In return, she'd wordlessly handed him every assault rifle and heavy pistol they had, keeping the sniper rifles and shotguns for herself. She was partially stunned to see an Alliance CO "down with the grunts," as her father would say, but she was grateful for the help and also had an idea or two as to why he'd offered in the first place. (He seemed to be full of surprises. Maybe that was why she liked him so much.) After all, one could only do so much paper-work and deal with the Council's typical BS. And . . . if he worked hard enough, meticulously enough, maybe he could forget Ontarom, however briefly. Again, she couldn't exactly blame him for trying.

As she began to think about the horrible ordeal, Ashley involuntarily shuddered. On Ontarom, Shepard had helplessly watched an old friend blow his brains out. (She couldn't even imagine how he was feeling right now. Whether he blamed himself for his inability to save his friend, or . . . He'd tried so hard to talk Toombes down. . . .) And in the aftermath, he'd stood beside Toombes's body long enough for the blood to pool around his feet. As if to say, 'If I can't even save my friend, how am I supposed to save a galaxy?'

Inwardly, Ashley sighed and gritted her teeth because it seemed like the silence was here to stay. Just as she finally resigned herself to it, and the crew's ridiculous dancing upon egg-shells, however, Shepard himself evidently decided that he'd had enough.

"You're awfully quiet today, Williams," he mumbled, and she felt him shift uncomfortably on the bench behind her.

At that, Ashley's eyebrows shot up and nearly disappeared into the fringes of her hair-line. Moreover, she was half-tempted to fix him with a look of sheer disbelief. After all, it wasn't for her benefit that everyone on the Normandy was being 'awfully quiet.' She wasn't the one being avoided. But the resentment passed soon enough, and, as it did, she stifled a humorless snort. So have you, she could have said, but didn't. Instead, she silently grasped for something . . . diplomatic to say. Something a friend would say, though she didn't know him well enough to consider him a friend in return.

It was a difficult endeavor, and, when she didn't answer right away, he went on, encouragingly: "Come on. Talk to me."

"Well, Skipper," she sighed, but also smiled, secretly. "I've told you all about my dad now. Care to tell me about yours? I mean . . . What's the first thing that pops into your head?"

She doesn't know why she asks. Only that it seems like a relatively safe topic and that she's already told him about her fondest memories; about her father cheerfully bursting through their pre-fab's door after a long assignment, his uniform drenched in the stale odor of tobacco, whiskey, and copper; the way he swings her and her sisters around by way of celebration, drunkenly teaching them how to dance. (Even now, the memory still makes her smile.) Maybe it's because she hopes that he has similar memories to share so it's an even trade. An eye for an eye, and all that. Or maybe it's because she just wants to hear him talk, because it's the first thing she can think of. She just doesn't know.

For a tense moment, Shepard remained silent, and Ashley began to wonder if she'd crossed some invisible line.

"That is, only if you want to," she added, quickly.

Hearing that hint of insecurity and knowing it came from Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, who could bravely stare down the barrel of any rifle, Shepard grinned, too. "It's okay," he told her, quietly. Then, with a hint of amusement in his voice, he began, "I must have been six or seven, and my dad took me shooting for the first time." Here, he shrugged noncommittally. "It was nothing fancy; just the small shooting range the crew had set up on his cruiser for practice." He chuckled lightly, and shook his head in outright disbelief. "To this day, I don't know how I managed it, but I hit every bulls-eye. Every single one. By the end of it all, my dad — well, he was smiling."

Ashley paused. "He must have been proud," she supplied, in a voice hardly above a whisper.

"Yeah," he replied, sounding thoughtful. "He was."

With that said, the two once again dissolved into silence; Ashley became distinctly aware of Garrus and Tali's continued conversation and knew that no one had overheard their own. For that, she was grateful.

Shepard went on. "I don't remember him smiling much," he admitted, finally.

By then, Ashley had already finished her work on one shotgun, so she put it down and picked up another. "What happened to him?" she asked, curiously, knowing full well that she was toe-ing a line she probably shouldn't cross. But then again, maybe it was better to piss Shepard off than let him linger in his despondency. At any rate, it was worth a try.

"He died when I was nine," Shepard explained, darkly. "Batarian slavers' raid on the fringes of Alliance space. He supposedly died while defending the colony long enough for the colonists to escape." Here, he paused long enough to put aside one pistol and replaced it with a combat rifle. "That's what's on the official report, anyway," he muttered.

Ashley's eyebrows arched again. "You don't think so?" she asked, audibly surprised.

"Honestly?" sighed Shepard. "I don't know what to believe. Everyone told me that I should be proud; that my father died a hero. But . . . you know, my mom hasn't exactly forgiven him for leaving us." So saying, his lips curled into a thin smile that seemed to say, And neither have I.

Ashley didn't respond, so Shepard continued, his every word another effort. "He's buried at Arlington International. Because he died honorably, defending humanity's 'galactic frontier,' Alliance brass wanted to honor his 'heroic sacrifice' with a hero's burial." He paused, thoughtfully, before releasing a humorless chuckle. "Only time I ever set foot on Earth," he murmured, almost as an afterthought.

Ashley was beginning to feel ill, like she'd crossed that invisible line and delved into something she shouldn't have. "I'm sorry," she said, suddenly. "I shouldn't have—"

"Don't be sorry," Shepard said, quickly. "I wanted to talk about it, okay? Truth is, I haven't talked about my father in years."

Ashley frowned and let his words dissolve in her mind. "Is he the reason why you wear a second pair of tags?" she asked, finally. Because she'd seen the dog-tags before, dangling from his neck, but the names themselves had always been too small to decipher. Given, one had to be 'Commander Nolan Shepard,' of course, but the other had always been a mystery until now.

Shepard blinked. "How—?" he started, then smiled, wryly. "I should've known that nothing would get past you, Williams," he remarked, dryly. "But yes — they're my father's."

"I'm glad you have something to remember him by," she murmured.

"I am, too," answered Shepard, quietly. Then, after another moment, he stood up and placed the newly-cleaned rifle in Kaiden's locker. "Well, I should probably go, Ash," he said while rubbing the back of his neck. "I've probably said too much already, and . . . well, paperwork waits for no one."

Ashley snorted; he was afraid that he'd already given too much of himself away. Always a private person, he should have known by then that she was someone he could trust, inexplicitly. Someone like Tali. Because, oddly enough, it was their quarian squad-mate who was able to draw Shepard out of his shell most often.

Still, in order to appease his fears, Ashley grinned up at him, reassuringly. "Not even humanity's first Spectre?" she asked, teasingly.

To that, Shepard released another humorless bark of laughter. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. Then, he squarely met Ashley's eyes. "Thanks for the talk, Ash. I — I really needed that."

"No problem, Skipper," she replied, lightly. "I owed you a favor for helping me through these." With a smile, she gestured to the cleaned weapons that she still had to put away in their respective owners' lockers.

With that said, Shepard smiled, and began to walk away. Ashley watched him go. As he moved past Tali, who was standing beside the Mako, passing Garrus his tools, he threw her a friendly "hello." Tali, of course, started, dropping several tools, which clattered loudly to the floor. Only after Shepard scrambled for the dropped tools was she finally able to stammer a "hello" of her own.

Ashley merely sniggered. As she completed the finishing touches upon her own rifle, she concluded with some degree of amusement, Someone's totally got a crush on the handsome Commander.

(A few months later, Ashley was dead. Completely obliterated by an explosion that briefly dimmed the system's sun. To his credit, Shepard never forgot her sacrifice. Nor the pain that accompanied yet another friend's death.)

Acknowledgements :

1. Tom80 from BSN : I'm glad you liked the last chapter. And I did have ideas for the scenes you mentioned; now I just have to remember them and do a total re-write. *sigh*

2. TW6464 : Thanks, mate! I'm glad you liked it.

3. Tattoo'd : Thank you, Minion! If you believe that it was realistic enough, then I guess that means I'm in the clear. I was worried that Tali and Garrus were getting too OC. Heh. I thought you'd enjoy that reference. In all fairness, I did ask you if I could use it a while ago.

4. Hamster Giggles : Thank you, my friend! I wouldn't exactly describe it as 'awesome,' but I thank you all the same! As to my stopped writing... well, I'm sorry. But you see I continued eventually, yes? :(

5. gilmaxter : Thanks! I'm glad that you think so. I was trying to fill in the gaps BioWare left. The geth consensus mission was one of those gaps, I feel. A good place as any for a talk, I suppose.

6. Rogal Dorn : Nah. That's Marauder Shields you're thinking of. He's the real hero of Mass Effect 3. Shepard is just sort of... there, I guess? He's a pansy. Can't even kill a stupid star-child. I mean, seriously. ;-)

7. Cycian : Uh... now? Sometime soon? Can I just say I'm sorry for the delay again? I wish I knew how to say it in every language, French included. :(

8. Chidoriprime : Thank you very much, my friend. I am better than some, but not as well as others. My family issues have taken their toll, as have my frickin' lost files. I'm sorry to hear about your writer's block. It happens to us all. I hope this chapter has cheered you up, but I won't count on it. It's not the greatest. I am, as always, sorry for the long, long delay. I'll try to improve the time it takes to update, but without my outlines, I can't promise anything.