It was getting that little bit more difficult to find a quiet bar away from everyone, especially with the clean up operations that were still taking place on the Citadel.
It was even harder to quietly sneak away from everyone. He knew they cared, they had all searched for him, wanted to make sure he was okay. He was, although it had taken several months to recover, after all, broken bones and damaged organs could be healed. Just hook me up to a machine again. Pump me full of painkillers, cut me open and prod in me, set what's been broken and patch me up, send me on my way again.
He knew they cared. The problem was simply he just didn't care anymore.
He had found an old bar, hidden away in Aroch Ward, a little battered place just off one of the back streets. Several of the windows were still broken, the Keepers obviously still busy in other parts to deal with just one small bar. As he entered the bar he saw the inside was as bad as the inside, broken stools and scorch marks from a firefight still dotted the bar. A couple of Turians sat in a corner with a pack of cards as a Krogan and a Batarian glanced at the human that walked into the bar before joining the Turians,
A Salarian stood behind the bar, complaining about the drink dispenser breaking down again. The alien had been surprised to see a human walk into the bar, nervously about to break into a bad joke before the human put down a credit chit and pointed to the bottle behind the Salarian. Noticing the Alliance marking on the chit, the Salarian tried to make some small talk before realising the human had taken the bottle and gone to one of the booths.
It had been the same. Always the same. Every time he slept, he would hear their voices. Always asking why he had let them die. Pleading with him to know why he didn't save them.
A soldier asking why she had to be left behind on Virmire.
Three hundred thousand Batarians screaming, demanding to know why they were sacrificed.
A Salarian asking why he had to go up to die alone on Tuchanka.
A Drell quietly asking why his friend had not been there for him.
Millions of others joined the chorus, wanting to know why they had died yet he had survived. Time and again he had survived while everyone else around him died. All asking why he got to live, what made him so damned special.
How many drinks would it take to quieten the dead this time?
Ethan Shepard knocked back a shot whiskey and looked at the empty glass as he reached for the bottle again.
Let's find out.