A/N: Slightly AU. I always wondered why Shep couldn't pull him/herself up after the final jump. So this is my take of what would happen afterwards. The title comes from a Dream Theater track of the same name, which inspired this story.
Shepard sighed wistfully, staring down the empty bottles of bourbon on the small coffee table in the middle of his quarters. He hadn't left his couch, let alone his quarters, since he'd managed to pull himself aboard the Normandy and stumble his way up here. They'd taken the sons of bitches down, but it had cost his whole squad their lives. Hence why he'd been camped out with a hefty supply of alcohol. He knew he still had a duty to fulfil, his duty. But that could wait until the pain was gone, until it was drowned in a sea of liquor and emptiness.
They were all gone. All of them. After all their preparations, all their precautions, everything they had been through, they were gone. Shepard knew that the likelihood of any of them making it through this was slim... But that didn't make it hurt any less.
"Why me? Why did I make it? Why did they have to die?"
Shepard shook his head, wondering what must look like – Galactic protector, hero the Blitz, saviour of the Citadel... Becoming a drunken mess.
As he poured himself another drink, Shepard's thoughts strayed to each squad member in turn, lamenting their loss.
Thane. The quiet, humble, thoughtful Drell assassin. The chair would sit empty in Life Support, empty of the killer and his meditations. He'd only just made peace with his son, and now he'd never know Kolyat.
Garrus. The scarred, grizzled veteran and Weapons Officer of the SR2. Ex-cop, antihero vigilante, and now dead soldier. No more calibrations would take place in the forward battery, no more dry, sarcastic remarks to make Shepard laugh inwardly.
Jacob. The ex-Alliance Corsair-turned-Cerberus soldier. The hero that was swept under the rug. The rifles will lay lonely in the armoury, never again to be tended by Jacob's hardened hands.
Mordin. The quirky, genius, possibly mad Doctor-slash-Special Tasks Group warrior. Truly, one of the greatest minds of the generation, gone. The lab would never again be the subject of his ingenious experiments, never again would the works of Gilbert & Sullivan flow through the corridors of the CIC.
Samara. The old, wise, stoic Justicar. Someone who gave their life in the name of serving the greater good... Only to give it again beyond the Omega-4 relay.
Kasumi. The master thief with a penchant for gossip, and Jacob. Never again would the halls of the ship be sounded ever so faintly by the soft, staccato tapping of her invisible steps as she moved about the ship.
Legion. The most interesting Geth he'd ever met, and the only one he'd never shot. There would be no more statistical analysis of hostiles and allies alike, no more discussions on the Geth collective.
Tali. The Quarian engineer who had maintained the ships that saved the galaxy. Her youthful exuberance, an exuberance that turned to a mature sense of responsibility as she grew, would no longer grace the halls of the Engineering deck. He knew Ken and Gabby would take her death particularly hard.
Grunt. The tank-bred super soldier. The perfect Krogan. His well-formed sense of honour, respect and loyalty, gone. The Cargo Hold would no longer be filled with the sounds of him re-enacting great battles of the past. Shepard was glad that Grunt had the chance to part of another.
Zaeed. The old, rough, hard mercenary that survived a gunshot wound to the head. He was brash and rude, but there was no better gunman in the universe. He had taken Jessie with him into hell, and he knew there was no way Zaeed would rather die.
Jack. The crazed criminal, with a soft underside. She acted tough, but Shepard knew she wasn't like that on the inside. She cared about them, and about herself.
And finally, the one that Shepard didn't want to acknowledge. The one he didn't want to lose. Miranda. The genetically-perfect Cerberus senior officer who'd given all that up for him. The woman he loved. He tried to save her... but he wasn't good enough. When he'd seen her sliding down the platform, he threw himself down the slope. Reached out, grasped her hand, thought he had her... Then all hell really broke loose. He'd somehow let go with the other platform crashed into theirs, and she ended up being crushed by the debris. The time they'd spent together before hitting the relay was easily on the top of his 'Best things I've ever done' list. He had plans for a future, a future free of Reapers, Collectors and idiotic politicians. But it'd never happen, because she was dead and he was here, alone.
He fought back the tears that were threatening to flow freely from his bloodshot, tired eyes, and contemplated the shot of bourbon in his hand.
This is one for you, guys. I'll miss you.