Death didn’t let go of her all at once.
Shepard knew the seventeen places in her body where it still staked its claim, and all of them fought against her as she sat in the corner of the armory.
She inhaled through clenched teeth and reached for the fastener of her left combat boot—but stopped as pain bolted through her spine and bleached her vision.
“ETA two minutes,” droned EDI. Shepard swore quietly. This wasn’t going to work.
“Shepard.” She blinked and looked up into a pair of big, black eyes. That damn assassin was always so quiet. How long had he been standing there?
Before she could respond, he bent down and tightened the fastener for her. He stepped back, turned around, and had almost reached the door before Shepard retrieved her voice.
“Wait.” She couldn’t believe what she was about to say, but she saw no other option. She gulped down the shame that swirled through her chest. “The other one. Could you…?”
He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. His brows were drawn together in an expression that wasn’t quite sympathy, and wasn’t quite sadness. He came back and knelt before her right boot. All at once, her anxiety gave way to relief and without quite knowing why, she leaned forward and pecked the top of his head. His scales were cool under her lips, and rougher than she had imagined.
He looked up, eyes wide and brows raised.
“Sorry. I just—I mean—thank you.”