"You know, this isn't the sort of place I thought you'd have."
They were stretched out on the beach, sea water drying on their skin under the warm afternoon sun. They'd both been feeling somewhat aimless - no guns to clean, no orders to write, no meetings to get to, no one to shoot - but Ash thought she was getting a hold of this relaxing thing.
They'd slept in, if 8 am could be called that, then ended up swimming for a few hours, before Shepard had put her little boat in the water and attempted to teach Ash how to sail. Attempted being the operative word. They'd fallen in a few times, laughing each time, before Shepard had finally dragged the dinghy onto the beach and they'd collapsed onto their towels.
"Hrm?" Shepard propped her head up on her elbow. "What do you mean?"
"It's quiet. You always seem to be surrounded by people, is all."
Shepard seemed to fit on Arcturus Station and the Citadel, like a duck to water.
"Yeah. I don't like being alone too long. But it's nice to take a break from 'Commander Shepard.' And when I'm done being alone, my abuelos live twenty minutes away in town. My brother and stepfather live in Joughin - my brother uses my boat more than I do." Shepard stretched, and Ash leaned back, enjoying the ripple of muscle under her dark skin.
"They won't mind me stealing you for a week?"
"Nah. How about your family?"
"My mother isn't happy, but they'll survive. They'll get three weeks with me."
"They want to meet you," Shepard said abruptly. "My grandparents."
Ash raised an eyebrow.
"Look, my abuela ferreted it out of me. She's like a terrier or something when it comes to my personal life," she scowled.
Ash laughed, flopping onto her back. "Someone who can get shit out of you? I can't wait to meet her."
"Great," Shepard grumbled. "She wants me to bring you round sometime this week if you're up for it."
"Sounds like a plan. Now c'mere."
"So?"
Emilia Shepard had a lot of fond memories of this house, though they often felt like distant, dreamlike wisps when she was in the Traverse. Eating dinner with her grandparents, roughhousing with her cousins, her abuelo teaching her to sail and garden - alien things to a spacer. She leant in the doorway of her grandmother's kitchen, arms crossed. Outside the window, sparks flew as Ash and her grandfather stoked the fire, working to create the cooking charcoal.
Rosa Alves looked up from her chopping board, a gentle smile creasing her face. "I like her. She makes you laugh."
"I'm glad," she admitted. The most she'd told her abuela to begin with was that she had a woman over - mostly to stop her cousins or brother coming by to borrow her car or boat. But her grandmother had dragged it out of her.
"It's been a while since I've seen you into someone like this. Not since…"
"Rita," Shepard frowned slightly, a sharp pang of guilt stabbing into her gut. Rita's ship had been destroyed in the Battle of the Citadel, because of her orders. Rita had survived, but Shepard knew what it'd be like, carrying the weight of the crew who'd gone down with the Trenton.
"It is good to see," Rosa said with a nod. "I know you are often lonely, Emmy."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. "I'm surrounded by people all the time, abuela."
"I said you were lonely, not alone, and I think you know there's a difference. You don't seem that way now. And I don't think it is just Ashley either."
Rosa had a way of seeing into her that had always been a little comforting and a little unnerving. "I have a good crew. Friends. And Ash…"
She'd loved her N7s, of course she had, but she'd never given herself to them in the way she had MSOT 6. Not the way she now did with the Normandy. They'd followed her to the ends of the galaxy - such devotion demanded the same in return. When a unit chose you that way, they owned you.
"I think I'm falling in love with her," she admitted, glancing out the window, at the silhouettes of her girlfriend and her grandfather, fire dancing in front of them, weaving up into the sky to disappear.
Rosa put down the chopping knife and swept over to seize her in a hug that was fierce despite its caution of her still healing body. "Oh, Emmy, I'm very happy for you."
"Thanks, Abuela," she murmured, kissing the top of her head.
"How is your arm?"
She rolled her eyes. "It's fine. I've had worse."
Rosa glared at her. "That doesn't mean I can't worry. You should be more careful. You have more than enough Purple Hearts as it is."
"A dreadnought fell on me," she protested.
"Bah. Go take this out to your abuelo," Rosa said with the unmistakable hint of an order. Shepard was far from a sixteen-year-old girl anymore - she was a decorated naval officer with her own command.
She meekly took the bowl from Rosa's hands.
Relatives were nothing compared to all the times Ash had nearly been shot in the last year. Right? Right.
Sparks flickered up into the darkening evening, the bonfire snapping beside the low glow of the pit full of coals as Ash settled in beside Shepard on a blanket spread on soft, green grass. The Alves home was small and rustic, built of warm brick instead of the blocky plastic and metal of the prefabs she'd grown up in. Houses like these took a lot longer to build, but she could definitely see the appeal. Rosa's garden of native Demeter flowering plants - a riot of purples and reds and whites - rivalled old Ziva's down the road from the Williams family home.
Shepard's grandfather tended the coals - and the slab of meat suspended over them. His initia; silence had given away to a wry, biting humour as they'd worked on the fires together.
Shepard slung an arm around her shoulders. "They'll have to roll me back to the Normandy after a few weeks of my grandparents' cooking."
Ash leant into her, lips just brushing the shell of her ear. "I'll help you work it off."
They had a good nine months of sexual tension to burn off, after all.
Shepard's lip curved in that half smile. "I'll hold you to that."
"Do either of you need anything? Drinks?"
Shepard pulled back slightly, her voice light. "We're good. Sit down for a moment."
Where Shepard was all coiled energy and directed intensity, her grandmother barely came to Ash's chin, and moved around in a flurry of expansive gestures. Given both Shepard's normal gravitas and that her usual limit for physical contact with ninety percent of people was a clap on the back, it'd been thoroughly amusing watching Rosa Alves shower her in affection and direct her around.
As Euler finally dipped below the horizon, it was time to eat - flank steak with bread and salad, Shepard a warm weight against her side. Shepard grumbled a little when she realised her abuela had cut up her meat - "What am I? Six?" - but there was a hint of gratitude in her expression. Ash knew how much the weakness and paralysis in her left hand was driving her nuts.
"Thanks for this," she murmured as they set their plates aside, stuffed so full she was worried she'd burst.
Shepard just smiled at her, leaning into her, and they watched the dying fire sputter and dance.
Shepard woke to an empty bed, the sheets cool when she ran a hand over them. It was still dark, none of the apartment lights on, and a flicker of concern ran through her. She pulled on a shirt, grimacing at the aches and pains, and went looking for her disappeared girlfriend. Her body liked to remind her that she'd lived a hard thirty years.
The other woman was leant over the kitchen bench, her palms flat against it, her shoulders rising and falling with erratic breathing. The long, dark hair Shepard had been running her hands through earlier that night hung down like a curtain, concealing her expression.
"Ash?"
Ashley jolted at her voice, spinning to face her. There was something in her eyes Shepard didn't recognise, her fists clenching and then unclenching. Her voice was rough. "Hey."
"Are you alright?" She took a step forward, but stopped when Ashley flinched, withdrawing into herself.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"Ash," she said gently. "Talk to me."
Ash's jaw worked and then her shoulders slumped. "I couldn't sleep, so I checked my omnitool, and I got an email. From Marie Neal."
"Yeah?"
The other woman pressed the heel of her palm into her forehead, leaning heavily into the bench. "Her daughter Penny was one of my squad leaders in the 2/12. She was my friend. She...she fucking died right in front of me and now her mum wants me to talk to her about it."
Shepard opened her arms, and after a moment Ash half-staggered into them, pressing her face into her neck. Shepard just held on tight. "Do you want to talk to her about it? It can be cathartic, for both of you."
"It was a fucking awful way to die." A tremble ran through the length of her. Shepard stroked her hair. "And I ran, Shepard. I left her there."
"You survived," Shepard reminded her, "and you did what you had to do to make it right."
"I don't think we did." Ash slumped into her. "I shot the bastard in the face, but it doesn't...they're still all dead."
"I know." She kissed her jaw.
"I just keep playing it over in my head, you know? I wanted to dig in, do a proper defensive perimeter with patrols. But my platoon commander didn't think it was necessary, and I didn't push the point because I was worried about losing my platoon sergeant billet." Ash shuddered against her. "They trusted me, and I couldn't get them out of that ambush. I crawled out of there while they were still executing the wounded."
"Ashley," Shepard said firmly, pulling back to look at her, "anything you could have done differently would've gotten you killed or merely delayed the inevitable. When I asked you to guide us to the spaceport - after everything that had happened, you went right back in."
Ash stared at her for a moment, face shadowed, and then she began to sob. Hard, bone-shaking sobs, like she was breaking apart. Shepard eased her over to the couch and wrapped herself around her like she could hold her together.
"I'm here," she murmured into her hair, "I'm here."