There's plenty of things Shepard feels she should feel guilty for. Mercenaries that stood in her way, bureaucracy she's shattered to do her job, the fact that a lot of the people who've faced her probably didn't need to die for the crime they were committing. But it's moments like these that hit her the worst- when someone is in pain, when she's talking to them, and she can't find the words. Like they're on opposite sides of a brick wall, a thousand miles away.

It makes her think of the woman on the docks, crouched behind a shipping container with a pistol, who hadn't known a kind word since she was a child. The juxtaposition of her and Shepard, with the backdrop of the Normandy, a palpable symbol of strength. But all she had were her words, and careful steps, and whispered promises. That's all she ever has.

In the end, she holds out her hand towards him.

"You don't have to take this now, but I wanna make this clear, alright? You need something, you reach out. I'll be there. Here's the hand... uh, literally." This is cheesy, and she knows it, but she can't think of a better way to get the point across. "I don't have a lot of people from home either. It'd be easy not to let anyone in because they don't know. But if you need help, I wanna give it. Alright?"