"Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps."

Much Ado About Nothing (III, i, 106)

The fight to the citadel beam was easy, if you're any good at dodging giant fucking Reaper lasers. Thank the Gods I'm Commander-fucking-Shepard, eh? Still, I took a glancing blow from one of the bastard things, a shot that should have ripped most people in half - and it just knocked me on my ass, dislocating my shoulder in the fall. I dragged myself to my feet and kept moving. A Marauder appeared in front of me, so I shot it. Took me several shots to get my aim right and eventually the abomination's head went 'pop' as the impact of a bullet shattered its skull and converted brains into thin red paste. Shepard saves the day again. That's where everything goes vague.
I remember the rest of the events to come, but I'm not sure if they actually happened or if concussion and dreams melted into one. Then swirling darkness and regret, a thousand times worse than being brain-dead on a Cerberus operating table for two years.
Regret for leaving those I loved behind.
Regret for never telling them how much they meant to me.
Regret for not kissing him when he told me he thought I was beautiful, regret for listening when he told me to shush and never tell anyone.

I wake up in a hospital bed, more tubes and wires attached to me than I've ever seen. Looking down, I see how thin I've become, my once-muscular frame atrophied with disuse. I try to speak and can't, my voice a mere croak, throat like sandpaper. I try to move and press a call button for a nurse, but it hurts to try and lift my arm... Fuck, I think, my mind racing. No other options, so I push through the pain and reach, oh God it hurts, until I hit the button. I sigh and pass out again.

"Shepard?" A familiar voice calls me from my slumber. I almost think I'm reliving a similar event from the last time I died, when I was woken by that same voice. "Shepard, wake up." A small part of my mind thinks "Oh fuck off and let me be dead already, Miranda" and then she does the unexpected and grabs my hand. My eyes snap open. "Miranda," I whisper, then a thousand other questions struggle for dominance in my mind. "I can't... what happened?" I squeeze her hand briefly, wishing it was my usual death-grip, trying to convey the urgency I feel.
"We won, Shepard, we won." She strokes my hair and I let out a sigh of relief.
"How long was I out?" I ask, noticing that she looks older, but still beautiful.
"Two years, Shepard."
"Fuck."
"I'll call the others."
"Thanks."