For The Lyric Prompt: "I Might Walk Home Alone/But My Faith In Love Is Still Devout" Or "See, Ive Already

For the lyric prompt: "I might walk home alone/But my faith in love is still devout" or "See, I’ve already waited too long/And now my hope is gone" for Matty/Ash? (If you feel like it. XD)

Yay, thank you for the prompt! (Wild to be doing Mass Effect writing again after so long. c: )

"See, I’ve already waited too long... And now my hope is gone..."

-----

Ash sits in one of the waiting areas of Gagarin Station's makeshift field hospital and tries not to fidget too much. Military discipline feels very far away when the only activity available is watching the orderlies slowly bring in the wounded from the battle on Earth. There's a muted scent of blood to the air that has lingered for days, but that's not the real reason for the sick feeling in her stomach.

They all sort of hoped, when the Normandy limped back to Gagarin - after the Crucible fired, after the chaotic crash into the jungle and the frantic field repairs to get them spaceborne again - that they would find Matty alive and waiting for them. Joker made a few comments about it, here and there - "He's fine, right? He was alive to pull the trigger. No way the old man would let a little knock like that take him out." Even Ash caught herself hoping, now and then - daring to believe that after everything, there could be a happy ending.

But of course, they all knew the truth, deep down.

According to Hackett, the last contact with Matty was aboard the Citadel, just before the Crucible went off. "He sounded bad," the Admiral had said grimly. "Weak as hell. Started mumbling stuff that didn't make sense, right before the signal cut out. I almost tried to send a few fighters in after him, and then the whole thing blew out. And, well, you saw the rest."

"Yes, sir," Ash had answered tonelessly. She remembered that rolling tide of red light chasing them through the relay and the brutal knowledge that they had to run, had to leave him behind. "Thank you, sir."

So why is she here, watching the endless parade of dead and wounded?

Hope is a funny thing. The thing with feathers/that perches in the soul... She held onto hers for quite a long time, but it has gone silent now, in spite of Emily Dickinson's assurances. She's just here, watching, waiting - perhaps to remind herself that even though Matty is gone, others survived the cataclysm and will be able to see this strange new world on the other side of the war...

Her breath catches in her throat and she hunches over in her seat. As that thought passed through her mind it suddenly became real in a whole new way. Matthias Shepard is dead, the news reports will say, and there will be memorials and celebrations of his bravery, the soldier that led the charge for the galaxy's freedom and died for it. But Matty is gone -- that is the truth that she has to carry in her heart, and grieve alone for the man that so few got to see.

The man with soft brown eyes staring over the top of a book at her when she thought he wasn't looking. The man who excitedly told her about the discussions he'd had with scientists about his ideas for biotech and prosthetics. The man who gifted her poetry and wrote his own scribbled on the margins of old reports. The man who cried out in his sleep, his body locked tense and rigid as he walked in restless dreams. The man she loved...

As once I wept, if I could weep, My tears might well be shed, To think I was not near to keep One vigil o'er thy bed; To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again.

"Byron," she can almost hear him say. "I do love that hidden romantic streak you have..." And he'd grin and lounge back in his chair and recite the rest of the poem for her, out of that prodigious memory...

Her stomach hurts with the effort it takes not to sob. She grips the arms of the chair, white-knuckling her way through the sudden surge of grief. And just when she's begun to get a handle on herself, there's a burst of chaos from the other end of the hallway.

Several of the orderlies and the harried, exhausted-looking doctors are converging near the elevator, all talking at once. In spite of herself, Ash looks up, automatically tracking the increase in activity, picking up on muted snatches of the hubbub of conversation.

"--about eight broken ribs--" "--stopped the hemorrhaging planetside--" "--barely stable--" "--going to need a transfusion--" "--Shepard--"

Her heart seems to stop in her chest. The hope that she thought was gone from her flares to life abruptly, with painful intensity. No, she tells herself. It's not possible. You're just hurting yourself more.

But without realizing it, she's on her feet and moving, clambering over the chairs in the waiting area rather than going around. Her boots hit the decking again and then she's running down the hallway.

One of the doctors looks up, hearing her approach. "Commander Williams," he says briskly, not seeming to register her agitation. "Good. I was going to send for someone from the Normandy, but now there's no need."

She stares at him, gasping like a fish, not quite sure how to form words. "I-- did I hear you right?" she asks blankly. "Someone said Shepard."

The man blinks, and then some of his distraction fades for a moment and he seems to see her face more clearly. "Did no one tell you, Ms. Williams?" he asks. "I suppose not - we've only just learned now ourselves. Commander Shepard was found on Earth two weeks ago. They sent him by fastest transport to us here, but communications have been so spotty the message only got here a few hours ahead of him." He nods towards the elevator. "We're preparing for admittance and triage now."

Her breathing feels like it's not working quite right, each exhale catching in her throat. "He's alive?" she whispers.

"Barely, by the sound of it," the doctor says grimly. "But alive, yes. And we're going to do our best to keep him that way. I'd advise you to stay out of the way when he arrives--"

She's stopped listening, because the elevator has made a soft, somewhat off-key chime and the doors are sliding open...

Four Alliance soldiers in bloody, ragged BDUs are standing inside. Between them they're carrying a makeshift stretcher covered in more blood, and on it is stretched--

"Matty!"

He looks terrible. One of his arms hangs at an odd angle, his clothing is tattered and bloodsoaked and she can see more than one bone poking through torn flesh. But he's breathing; she can see the soft rise and fall of his chest, and at the sound of her voice, his eyes flicker half-open.

"Ash...?" he whispers.

"Commander, clear the way. We need to get him hooked up to a line," the doctor snaps. "And don't agitate him."

She backs up; the reaction to the tone of command is automatic. But she met his eyes, just for a moment, long enough for her to see him within that battered shell, and for him to see her waiting for him. It's enough for now.

Commander Shepard is not dead. Matty is not gone.

That thing with feathers in her soul is alive and well again and shouting its song at the top of its lungs.

As promised!!!

I do think they is some irony in that everyone complains Ashley is racist but if you ask her to join you in ME2 she’s like ‘I don’t know if I trust you because you’re working with terrorists but I will not work with knock off white power movement’

Like yes, I appreciate the old crew coming back but mad respect for Ashley is the only one that said ‘I will NOT join the KKK no matter what resources they got’ yet everyone is still complaining

As you know, you can make writers lives easier by doing unnecessary exposition scenes in real life, thereby making them realistic.