"I'm sorry," Shepard said to the open air of the abandoned medbay. He sat beside the only occupied bed, the gentle beep-beep-beep of the monitoring equipment his only company.

"I'm so sorry." He wasn't sure he was being heard, but no matter how many times he said it, it would never be enough. Shepard had fucked up, big and now his friend lay in this bed, surrounded by tubes and wires to make sure he was still breathing. He really fucked up.

He'd been dusting up when the call came in.

The incident on the Citadel had shaken him hard. The desperation he felt, what he did to that dealer. He felt awful. He needed to forget, didn't want to be here, didn't want to be him.

Shepard started using heavy, losing himself in nothing more than cheap parlor tricks the left him comfortably numb.

He tried popping stims to cancel out the sand, but the effects didn't last long. By the time they'd touched down on some dinky backwater planet, he could feel the ground swaying beneath him.

Some vorcha claiming to be Bloodpack members had seized a warehouse and made hostages of everyone inside. The plan was simple; Jacob and Garrus would grab their attention to distract them while someone else took them out. Shepard was on sniping detail.

"Switch with me, Shepard." Garrus had asked him for the third time. He was starting to piss Shepard off.

"Negative, Vakarian. I've got this one."

"But I really wish you'd switch." Garrus said, trying to not seem too anxious.

"What are you, my mother? Go take your fucking position. " Garrus had kowtowed to him then, but that wouldn't be the end of it.

Shepard felt bad for snapping at him now. He was right. Shepard had no business on the field in the state he was in, but he had anyway. Even now he couldn't say why; cockiness? Fear of having his secret brought to light? What did that matter now?

Garrus was paying the price for Shepard's arrogance.

Things had gone downhill in hurry.

His hands were too shaky to aim properly. His shot missed its mark by inches, wounding the leader. They were made.

The vorcha started firing in his direction in a panic.

Garrus ran in, trying to hustle the hostages out before the vorcha remembered they were expendable. Jacob tried to cover him, but he hadn't been fast enough.

The hail of fired ripped through his shields, leaving him vulnerable. In an instant, Garrus was down and not moving.

When the dust settled, all of the vorcha and half of the hostages were dead, and Garrus lay injured and bleeding for the second time since they'd met up on Omega.

Miranda had relieved him of his command until the mission was over or his sobered up; whichever would come first. As far as the crew knew, he was still in charge, but the rest of the squad, they'd have to be told.

Shepard could already picture their faces; eyes full of pity and contempt, looking down on their commander with feet of clay. He felt sick to his stomach. He didn't ask for this, he didn't want any of it. He wished he could shrink, disappear, be numb.

He didn't even really feel like dusting up, but he knew if he went back to his quarters he would.

"…Accepted..."

His head snapped up, to see Garrus, watching him, one eye open.

"Apology… accepted…" he said lazily, painkillers dulling his tongue.

Tears stung his eyes as he watched his friend try to force a smile, to pretend like everything was ok, nothing amiss.

He turned away, unable to bare it.

"I'm so sorry." He said again, his gaze fixed on the terminal across the room.

Garrus' hand snaked out, latching onto Shepard's wrist. He tugged on it until Shepard looked at him. His face was all business, any pretenses of a smile fallen away.

He looked Shepard in the eye as best he could from hiss prone position.

"Prove it."