Dropped the F-bomb here, but otherwise a pretty clean fic, just rating it M to be safe. Another of my writing exercises to get used to writing again. :3
It was so hard to breathe.
It was so hard to focus.
It was so hard to not lose control.
She could feel her body shaking from trying to rein it all in: her anger, her despair, her irrationality. She wanted to just storm out and shoot the bastard in the face repeatedly and mutilate his corpse as much as she could.
She wanted to burn the terminal she read that letter in.
But she couldn't do all that.
Commander Fucking Shepard couldn't just simply lose control. Not in front of everyone, not ever.
So she could only try to keep it in, use that anger for the next fight. For the time being, it meant sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, arms hugging her legs tightly as if curling up into a ball would somewhat remedy the rage threatening to overflow. It meant taking refuge in that space under the engineering deck because no one ever goes down there any more.
No one but her when her cabin did not provide the solitude she needed.
She couldn't breathe.
She could hear herself choke as she struggled to inhale, a gurgle that sounded so familiar.
So similar to when he tried to breathe despite his lungs were no longer capable of providing him the oxygen he needed.
Goddamn it.
Thane.
It was her fault. It was all her fault.
She flung her head back, ignoring the pain as she impacted with the metallic wall behind her. It was like a trigger, one that seemed to have shocked her lungs into working just for a minute, the oxygen that passed her oesophagus and into her lungs felt glorious; her vision clearing just a little with that gasp.
She couldn't lose control.
With her forehead on her knees again, she continued on with her physical struggles. Memories attacked her thoughts; scenes flashed over and over again before her eyes; the screams wouldn't stop ringing in her ears. Her failures wouldn't cease haunting her.
Shepard. Shepard. Shepard…
Her sight dimmed as she struggled for air again, her lungs threatening for real this time to fail on her, but suddenly she felt a cool hand press against the back of her neck. She could barely hear his voice, but she could understand him through his touch.
'Breathe, damnit.'
'Just breathe.'
It was as if her body obeyed his command, and she took in a big breath with a loud gasp.
Her lungs burned.
But all her senses were now centred on the fingers that were massaging her nape; the other hand that smoothed up and down her back. She felt his warmth permeate her cold form; her knees on her forehead replaced by his chest as she wrapped her arms around him.
Yes, he was here. He was here again.
He was her lifeline.
He was her sanity.
He was her saviour.
It was because of him, that even with the galaxy burning around her, she could still breathe.