She cannot think.
She cannot sleep, cannot remain lying or seated, and so she spends the night pacing, subduing the maintenance light with her biotic flares, till the place feels as if closing in on her to suffocate her. There is nowhere she can go, though, on the ship full of Cerberus scum, nowhere, but a single place.
Teltin. Pragia. Teltin. Pragia.
The names resonate in her head with each step as she strides towards Shepard's quarters.
Later, she cannot recall what exactly it was she told him; she knows that she must have been only half-coherent, the words spilling out in a flood; she knows that she was pacing violently while Shepard was sitting, unmoved, like a single solid object in universe. At some point, a glass occurred in her hand but she has no memory drinking from it. She has no memory of sitting down on the sofa, either, but that's where she wakes up, curled under a blanket. Shepard is nowhere around and the lights are turned down, and there is a tray loaded with food right on the coffee table. Her stomach rumbles and cramps at the smell: she cannot recall the last time she ate.
Only after she wolfs down half the content of the tray, she notices a message on the PDA next to it.
Off to arrange that bomb you wanted. Working on it with Garrus in the armory if you need me. Get some more sleep, ETA at 18:10.
Huddling in the blanket, she slowly lies down. Five more hours, and the place of nightmares will cease to exist, Shepard will see to it.
Tears come unbidden as, the first time in years, she allows herself to hope or believe.