December 20th
Shepard looked around to see the familiar dead black trees.
Oh, not again.
She tried to run, but it felt again like someone had turned the gravity all the way up. Shapes stood in the thick fog, and Shepard moved away from them. She didn't want to do this again. She was done with this shit.
"Not too bad, Skipper," Ash's voice echoed. That was weird.
It's usually a little more accusatory than that, Shepard mused. She kept running—really just lifting her knees in exaggerated motions while her body barely glided forward—and tried to aim for an area thinner in fog, and more sparse in the damn talking shadows.
She saw all of them. Vega, who had called her Lola once until she beat the shit out of him. Wrex, who had just disappeared on the battlefield and never reported back in. Thane, dying to protect her and the salarian councilor. Williams, of course, Shepard's first sacrifice to the Reapers. Zaeed. Jenkins. Joker. Too many others to count.
Mordin Solus solidified out of the fog in front of her.
He's not all black and inky. He should be black and inky.
Shepard tried to backpedal, but momentum kept her floating forward until she bumped lightly into Mordin, who caught her by the shoulders and stood her up straight. He didn't look like the other shadow-people. He looked … normal.
What is going on here?
"Shepard. Did well. Right one to do it, you know. After all …" Mordin smiled, and Shepard knew what he would say.
She finished the sentence with him. "Someone else might have gotten it wrong."
"What's that, Shepard?" Garrus asked.
Shepard lifted her head from the pillow, noting that both it and her face were damp.
"Shep, are you crying? What's wrong?" He dropped the tablet he'd been working with to reach out to her.
For once, she accepted the comfort, sliding into his lap. "Nothing's wrong, Garrus. Nothing at all." She curled up against his chest. Though her eyes were still wet, a small smile curved her lips.