Clean
Shepard slammed the door behind her and stomped through the short foyer of her cabin. The green interlocking shapes rolled, shifted and turned red with a terse beep signaling the door locking, but she her mind was on the sharp tingling sensation in her shoulder. Initial dose of medigel wearing off, she had nearly forgotten her shoulder before she bumped it on the door frame of her private rest room. Air hissing through her gritted teeth, she grabbed it instinctively before turning on the faucet. White noise and water poured from the showerhead, slowly filling the room with a fine mist. Shepard stepped into the stream of water and lowered her head, eyes closed. Inhaling sharply through her nose and trying to draw out her exhales, she leaned her forehead on her good arm against the wall.
Water pattered, seeped in and made something sting on the side of her head. She opened her eyes and watched rivulets of red swirl down the lighter colour patterns on her armor, pool around her boots and disappear down the drain. She shambled to the sink and tried to pull of her helmet. Another sharper sting made her wince briefly. She leaned in to the slowly clouding mirror for a better look. How did she miss the small sharp crack at the edge of her visor earlier?
She undid the latches and loosened the straps of her Rosenkov built gauntlets before trying her helmet again. Letting out a quiet pained whine she slowly managed to free herself. She tossed the helmet aside on the cabinet. She reached around her right shoulder, carefully this time, and removed the pauldron. Latch by latch, one strap at a time, she felt lighter, as pieces of her armor were shed off. She slid out of the undersuit, which felt heavy, soaked from absorbed moisture, sweat and spent medigel. She hurriedly felt around her body, looking for more scrapes and signs of injury. Fingers slid over her abdomen, under arms, across muscles, around joints, along bones. Only slight bruises, sores and strained muscles. Good. She had no disposition to meet Karin's motherly stare right now.
She peeled off her sleek and unadorned gray underwear. Not something she'd wear for a date under the deeply cut, gleaming black sheath dress she hadn't had chance to use since... Well, anything's better than Cerberus logos against your skin. About to toss them, she saw a dark stain on the shoulder strap. Blood? Mine?
She leaned toward the mirror again, turning her head for a better look. Catching her own tired emerald but reddened stare under the dirt and matted, sweaty hair, she muttered, "You look like shit", and averted her eyes. She loosened what was still left knotted up and back of her long burgundy hair and weaved through the mist for the rushing shower.
The rush of hot water prickled her stifling skin. While rubbing on soap, her body finally acknowledged her exhaustion. Legs felt close to shaking under her own weight. Arms felt nearly too heavy to lift. She thought about crawling to her bed. Finding Liara under the blankets. Damn it's been so long. Her fingers sought her skin again, sliding up her abdomen. Around her breasts. Down between her legs.
Breathing heavily, grabbing her shampoo-soaked and medigel-clogged hair with her fingers, she brushed them against something hard and sharp that made her wince again. Touching it gently, it came loose and fell on her palm. Her mind rewound and replayed in high speed - dodging behind the corner while reaching for a fresh thermal clip. The crack on her helmet. A tiny splinter. Off the wall at Aratoth. A memento from the still expanding cloud of dust that used to be the Bahak system.
Shepard slid down to the floor, her shaking shoulders leaning against the corner, hugging her feet and trying to focus on the scalding feeling of hot water on her reddening skin.