Air rushed past her cracked lips with a sharp gasp. The intake of air caused her lungs to burn, but she didn't have enough energy left to cough and wheeze. Each eyelid felt like it weighed one hundred pounds. Shepard forced them open anyway.
Blurred shapes and dusky shadows swam before her. The fires continued to constrict her chest and she tried to crawl away from the pain. Something pressed on her right leg, while her arms wouldn't respond to her commands. Panic sliced through her delirium and she struggled to keep her breathing steady.
Inhaling and exhaling, she tried to wiggle her fingers. Success. She flexed one wrist, and then the other; even with the charred remains of her armor, she coaxed some motion out of the bruised joints. The exertion added to her fatigue, however, and she rested before attempting movement again.
Voices rumbled somewhere in the distance. She couldn't tell if they were real or an auditory hallucination. Working from the assumption help was nearby, she opened her mouth to call out. The force required to choke out a whisper increased the agony searing through her nerves.
The voices came closer, though she couldn't discern coherent words. She tried to lift her head and succeeded in raising it two inches off whatever jagged pile of rubble served as her makeshift pillow. Gray clouds of smoke unfurled towards the sky, obscuring any sign of the stars. The foreboding sight and expulsion of energy sent her head back down to lean atop the debris.
Heavy boots scuffed along the rocks and wreckage. Mustering every last ounce of strength left in her body, Shepard tried to speak one more time. Two words left her lips before the darkness enveloped her, ripping her from consciousness yet again.
"I'm here…."
High-pitched beeps chiseled at her eardrums in a relentless rhythm. Without opening her eyes, Shepard tried to escape from the noise and found she couldn't move. "She's waking up," someone said nearby.
An endless expanse of white flooded her senses. The pristine blur gradually sharpened to cohesive images and she glanced around without moving her head. Machines and monitors surrounded her, attached to a web of wires and sensors that flowed beneath the sheet covering her body. Her mouth wrapped around a plastic tube and the burning sensation in her lungs had subsided.
"Commander Shepard," spoke a lightly accented voice.
A woman's face appeared above her. She heard the scrape of a stool being dragged across tile and the figure sat down. "Don't try to speak," the visitor, presumably the doctor, said. "We had to intubate you to make sure you were getting enough oxygen, but I'm afraid you can't talk with the tube in."
Shepard blinked.
"We've also been keeping you sedated as your body heals." The doctor smiled. As she pushed her auburn hair away from her eyes, something about her seemed familiar. "But it's good to see you awake."
Another person entered into the wounded soldier's line of view. The newcomer leaned over to whisper something to the doctor, and she nodded. "I know you must have many questions and concerns, and we'll do our best to answer them in good time. I will tell you, however, that you were successful in stopping the Reapers. They are no longer considered a threat, and efforts to rebuild the galaxy are well underway."
The medical devices prevented her from letting out a deep sigh of relief, but tension dissolved out of her muscles and the bed suddenly felt softer.
"I thought that might make you feel a little better and help keep you on the road to recovery," the doctor said. "If your vital signs stay stable, we'll extubate you tomorrow and see if we can get you something to eat. Until then, Commander, you need to rest."
Shepard lifted her hand, taking care not to dislodge any of the adjacent equipment. She pointed to the doctor's clipboard and pantomimed writing something out.
"You'll have to pardon the paper chart. We were having some, ah, difficulties with the computerized systems and we didn't want to take any chances with your care." The doctor flipped to a fresh page and passed over a pen she produced from her pocket.
She wrapped her fingers around the small tool. Years of relying on datapads and her compromised condition made the pen feel strange in her hand. In an unsteady, childlike scrawl, she managed to convey her most pressing inquiry in four sloppy letters.
CREW?
The doctor smiled, though her patient could tell it was forced. "Why don't we talk about that tomorrow? I've really kept you up for far too long and—"
When she tried to take away the pad, Shepard seized the woman's wrist with a strength that surprised even herself. She used the pen to tap the page with deliberation, letting the weight of it fall on the written word three times. Her desperate stare met that of the doctor's, and she raised her eyebrows in a tacit plea.
A sigh resounded in response. "The Citadel and the Reapers weren't the only entities to sustain damage. So much was affected, from communication frequencies to the mass relays themselves." The pitying smile made its appearance again. "But just because no one's been able to get in touch with the Normandy doesn't mean we should expect the worst."
She closed her eyes. The tempo of the monitors' beeps increased and the doctor's voice drifted over them. "We need to focus on your recovery right now. I'll give you something to help you rest."
The incessant chirps faded to a dull hum and the blackness encroached upon her. Visions of her crewmates flashed through her mind, along with thoughts of the countless people her actions had affected. With one last contemplation of their fates, she tumbled back into oblivion.
