[Her hand on his spikes an odd flurry of familiarity. Movements, motions. His arms should be around her waist, her hand locked onto his armor...]

[Suddenly he wonders if this is what it's like to be their assassin crewman. Flashes of memory that shouldn't be so vivid. Damn, it must be annoying to be a drell. He shakes his head.]

I... it must have been something in the food. Water. I don't know.

[He turns his attention back to the wall.]

... I don't dream, Shepard. Never really have. But... I just had one hell of one.