May 26, 2187
Dad took me out onto the hospital grounds for a bit this afternoon. Sorry I was gone, but…yeah, I needed to get out there. I needed to get away from Chakwas and the other doctors, and their looks.
We sat down on a bench and he tossed me a datapad. It had details of your injuries. I tried to shove it back at him but he wouldn't let me. He wouldn't let me say anything, he wouldn't let me leave, until I read the damned thing. Really read it.
The docs in Australia had listed all your injuries for me. But I read it over. Again.
Burns, ranging from first to third degree, over forty percent of your body. Mostly healed now.
Broken right orbital socket, blind in that eye.
Broken spine, damaged spinal cord. Significant nerve damage. Partial lower-body paralysis.
Internal injuries, mostly healed now, too many to list.
Missing lower left leg.
Skull fracture, mostly healed.
Probable brain damage from both the skull fracture and the lack of oxygen during two cardiac arrests as they struggled to stabilize you.
Damn it, why did I write that all out? You're here. You're alive. The rest of it doesn't matter.
We can get through this, Shepard.
May 27, 2187
You're sleeping. I'm sitting in the chair beside your bed, trying to read…something, I can't even remember what it is. A news report, maybe. I keep reading a word, then looking up, reading the same word, then looking up again.
You don't look like you. It's hard to write that. It's hard to realize that.
You're thinner. Your cheeks are gaunt. There's a red, angry-looking scar bisecting your right eyebrow, pointing toward your nostril on that side, and it stands out because your skin is so much paler than it should be. Your hair is much shorter than it was, all messy dark waves instead of being smooth and drawn back into that low bun you favoured.
I know it's you. It's just hard to reconcile.
May 28, 2187
Liara is here. I don't know where she was, I don't know where she's been, but I figured she'd hear. She's got eyes and ears everywhere, right?
She's definitely not the same girl we found on Therum. I wonder, did her innocence die when her mother did? Or did it disappear after the first Normandy was lost? I sort of miss her unbridled enthusiasm. She used to get so excited about everything, rambling on at the slightest encouragement. That's gone. She's much more subdued, though, really, it only makes sense. She lost her mother, she lost you, then she lost her entire world. That would dim anyone's lights.
She was all business but I could see the concern in her eyes. I left you and her alone for a bit. It didn't seem right to eavesdrop, you know? You two have a connection, you always have. I knew if you'd respond to anyone else, it would be her.
Afterwards, she came to find me, nursing a coffee in the cafeteria. She still had a concerned look about her, directed at me now. It was disconcerting. I'm not the one lying in a hospital bed. I'm fine. Tired, sure, but fine.
Damn but she's learned how to talk, hasn't she? Somehow she convinced me to head home, get some rest in a real bed. She's going to stay with you until I get back and she's promised to call me if anything happens.
I'm glad she's here. It's good to know she's got both our backs.
And she found Miranda. She'll be here the day after tomorrow.
