#post destroy

Wish I may, wish I might, bring you back to me tonight. ✨💔 For the May @meflashfanwork, “What Might Have Been”.

SORRY FAM. Everything I touch turns to angst.

And while not written for this, I do think this art lines up very nicely with my old (first ever!) ME fic, "Promises".

Open. Close. Open. Close.

Shepard still isn’t used to her prosthetic hand. She moves each finger slowly, precisely, staring at them with a sense of detachment. Holding both hands out flat, she studies the differences. Motorised joints, metallic casing, and multicoloured wiring on the right. Bruised knuckles, scars dividing the skin, an uncontrollable tremor on the left.

“You’re clear to leave, Shepard.” Miranda watches as she quickly clenches her hand and hides it from view.

“And go where? London was a ruin the last time I saw it.” Shepard says coldy. Miranda slowly reaches over and puts her hand on Shepard’s shoulder.

“You’ve been in here for twelve weeks. A lot of temporary infrastructure has been going up, and repairs on the more important buildings.” Miranda offers a quick explanation of the events of the last three months.

“Well whoop-de-do.” A smirk appears on her face. Wobbling slightly, Shepard lets Miranda guide her through the maze of halls to the main door of the hospital. Giving her a nod of thanks, she limps towards the door, shoving it open with her shoulder despite Miranda objecting in the background.

And Garrus is there, waiting for her.

The first thing he manages to tap out when he sees James is, ‘you owe me a drink.’

The man blinks, and the spectre taps out slowly in morse, blue eyes glinting and a shit-eating grin stretching his lips around the tube going down his throat. ‘You said. In Purgatory. When we get to Earth. You’re buying.’

James blinks, then barks a laugh, shaking his head in exasperation. “Good to know you still have your priorities, loco.”