Hours had passed but Shepard found herself unable to move. Unable or unwilling, she wasn't sure which. Her legs were folded beneath her, the tingling sensation fading until there was only numbness. Wounds, old and new, had blossomed on her knuckles and along her forearms, though the blood had turned brown as it dried. Now it pulled at the hairs on her arm. She had given up sorting through the remains of her ship only because her fingers had stiffened.

It had felt good to tell the Illusive Man what she had been itching to say to his face for months. Even as her legs trembled and her hands shook until she clasped them together behind her back to hide her weariness, it hadn't all seemed real.

Then Joker cut the connection and she was left standing in a dark room, sparks from downed wires scorching the air. Rubble all around her. Her ship torn in pieces. One of her crew introduced to death with a recommendation from her.

The others offered to help but she made them all leave and she maintained her composure until she was sure she was alone. Then she had screamed, then she was digging, and then she was on the floor with blood from her fingers smeared across the walls.

"I think they have people who do this sort of thing. Clean up crews, I mean."

Shepard pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, her shoulders slumping. She cleared her throat and called back: "I had to do it myself."

"Seems like a lot of lonely hours to dig through scrap - oh." Garrus's feet scuffed against the ground as he pulled up short, his words swallowed up by the sound of alarm carried in that single syllable.

"I was just leaving," she said, reaching for something to help pull her to her feet. Her voice was heavy, her tongue thick and her throat dry from crying. The pins and needles sensation was back in her legs and made it difficult to stand.

"Spirits, are you bleeding?" He moved from the doorway, light from another room illuminating where she huddled. She could see where her fingers had left their smear on the piece she had been trying to throw across the room when she had finally given up.

Garrus kneeled in front of her, his fingers taking hold under her arms to help lift her to a standing position. Even without knowing how useless her legs were he held her up, one hand coming to rest against her waist. A talon pressed into her ribs.

"Let me see your hands," he instructed.

"I'm fine. I cut myself on something sharp and was taking a break."

"Taking a break from cutting yourself on something sharp?" He was teasing and Shepard knew she should laugh. She looked up at him and couldn't even force a smile.

"I failed," she said, matter-of-factly. The syrupy feeling had left and she could speak clearly now, her words loud and enunciated. "I failed and I can't even clean my own ship."

"Shepard, you…" He paused and filled the space with a forced laugh. His eyes rolled in their sockets, looking between her pallid face and the remains of the comms room.

She let the silence linger, let his laugh die in the vacuum of the mangled ship. If she had been able to clean out all the scrap, maybe the laugh would have echoed and it would have sounded like the good old days.

The good old days. Those were just yesterday.

"You don't look so good." His voice was loud, too loud for how close his face was to hers. She kept looking up, her head tilted all the way back to make up for the difference in their height, even as she flinched at his volume.

"I failed," she said again. She lowered her chin as she spoke, unwilling to see or be seen. As if she could hide her face and that's all it would take to disappear. "I killed - "

"Stop it."

"No." She wanted to shout at him - at the world - but the itching heat in her throat kept her voice deceptively low and even. "It's true."

"Stop it," Garrus repeated. "We aren't done yet, Shepard. We don't have time for this - for you to…"

"Break?" She laughed, high and delirious, and pushed at his arm, unhooking herself from his grasp as she pulled away.

He stayed still as she back away from him. The room was claustrophobic, narrow paths free from scrap and rubble keeping them close together even as she tried to put distance between them.

"I should have done this all on my own, I should have never asked any of you for help. I shouldn't have let - " She couldn't say the name just yet, couldn't admit that anyone was gone, all because of her suicide mission.

Garrus lowered his arms, his mandibles opening and closing as he looked at his feet. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do except listen to her ragged breathing.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Deep breath in.

He took a step forward, his eyes following her as she stepped to the side, careful to keep out of arm's reach.

"Get off my ship, Vakarian." There was no venom or demand in her voice, only a trembling bottom lip she pulled between her teeth.

"I'm not really sure to do in a situation like this, I think I'm falling behind." He took another step closer. "Last time we were alone I complimented your hair. Will that work now?"

"I said go!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Commander."

It took him only a few steps to reach her, to grab her and pull her against him just as she turned away. He bent at the hips to match her height, his chest pressed against her back, both arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

Her shoulders began to shake and he struggled to keep himself standing at such an awkward angle as she leaned back, her weight resting against him.

The ship was silent again as he held her, their breathing synchronized and shallow.

"You know," he said, one hand coming up to wrap around her bicep, "I failed, too."

She snorted and wiped at her dripping nose. "You were never very good at pep talks."

He ignored her sarcasm. "I tried my best to not feel anything for you. Guess what? I failed."

Shepard tilted her face until the crown of her head was resting against his chest. Color was seeping back into her face, her cheeks and lips regaining their normal hue.

"Look at that," he marveled. "Your nose isn't the reddest thing on your face."

This time she smiled at his joke, her eyes rolling up so she could look at him without moving her head.

"Was it my nice hair or my supportive waist?" she asked.

"The hair, I think." He let go of her arm, his finger running up her neck so he could tug on tendrils of hair that curled over her ears.

She laughed and tilted her head to rest her cheek in his hand. "Thank you, Garrus."

"You never compliment my hair, but it's fine. I'll get over it."