Something in his voice brings her up, snap-to and focus. She looks at him, and he looks back, his hands held out, pantomime pose, and for the first time in a very long time... Shepard does not know what to do. He's clearly distressed and she still can't shake the reflexive, ugly shock of the vision— she both wants to reach out to meet him, and—
He pulls back and for a second or two, Shepard is sure she's screwed this up.
Come back.
"Alright..." She replies, steadier than she feels; but she can feel anger rising to cover the fear, slow and inevitable. When you can't control the situation, when you're scared, get mad instead. That had always been her way, "What's the theory?"
Shepard lets herself be steadied, sparing a glance for the way he's grasping, sleeve-over-hand the way you would when you had to pick up something unpleasant, or too hot.
no subject
He pulls back and for a second or two, Shepard is sure she's screwed this up.
Come back.
"Alright..." She replies, steadier than she feels; but she can feel anger rising to cover the fear, slow and inevitable. When you can't control the situation, when you're scared, get mad instead. That had always been her way, "What's the theory?"
Shepard lets herself be steadied, sparing a glance for the way he's grasping, sleeve-over-hand the way you would when you had to pick up something unpleasant, or too hot.
"Shoot."