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Shepard gasped for air, trying to claw her way out of the sweat-soaked sheets. She overestimated her success on that account; trying to get off the bed sent her pitching face-first, one ankle still snared. She hit the floor with a grunt and a swear, not enough wind in her to get knocked out. She staggered to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.
Leaning against the counter, she stared at the face in the mirror. It looked like her, right down to the scar that split her left eyebrow. The new scars were different, tiny fissures in her skin revealing the warm glow of the cybernetics beneath.
"Who are you?" she whispered. It had her face, her voice, even her memories... but it couldn't be her, not really.
"I died," she snarled at the woman in the mirror. "I died, so who are you? Who the fuck are you?"
Her fist collided with the mirror, an explosion of pain and glass that brought further curses to her lips. She stared at the blank wall for a moment and decided it was an improvement, then turned her attention to her hand. She winced as she flexed her lacerated knuckles, blood dripping onto the glass-littered countertop.
"Fuck," she muttered, grabbing a towel off the shelf and wrapping it around her hand. It was late, most of the crew would be asleep, she could just slip down to med bay and get some medi-gel and no one would say a word to her. They never did, when she wandered the ship at night.
And that was mostly how it went, until she went to the elevator to go back to her cabin.
Garrus was waiting for her.
“Trouble sleeping, Garrus?” She clasped her hands behind her back.
“You left a trail, Shepard. I’m guessing you didn’t notice.” He pointed out the small spatters of blood on the floor.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
“Talk to me, Shepard. Please.” He touched her arm. “Talk to me, and I’ll help clean up the mess.”
She pressed her lips between her teeth. “It’s a bigger mess than you think,” she sighed, and took him up to her cabin. He looked like he wanted to look around; she nodded her consent and sat on the couch, resting her elbows on her knees.
"Am I really me, Garrus?"
He came and sat beside her. "What?"
She shook her head. "I can remember it. I can remember dying." She looked at him with bloodshot eyes. "I don't know anymore."
"You think I'd be here if I didn't believe it was really you?"
"But Cerberus made me. Maybe they -"
He put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't do that, Shepard. You'll drive yourself crazy. Are you the exact same person you were two years ago? Of course not. None of us are. The shit we've been through - life changes you, y'know.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”
"Your... tastes have certainly changed."
Her cheeks flushing, she glared at him, and he held up his hands defensively. "Oh come on, Shepard. I'm just giving you a hard time."
She shook her head. "How did you know?"
"To be honest, I didn't. Not until now. But I've had my suspicions. I -" he paused. "About a week ago, you two were having coffee. Now, I've seen you drunk, Shepard. Hell, I've even seen you dance. But I've never seen you really look at ease." He patted her leg. "Whatever it is, you need it."
Her blush deepened and she fought back a grin.
"But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised."
She snorted. "Yeah. Me too."
He looked at her. "You gonna be okay?"
She gave him a small, tired smile. "Aren’t I always?"