She does. She remembers back to a girl on the docking bay, holding a stolen gun after being stuck in slavery so long she didn’t even remember her own name. She helped, then. They could share stories of Mindoir, before the pain for them both. But she could pick her words then, much deeper control over her posture and choice. Not… this. Not the constant ugliness of the truth out of them both.

Her legs shake as she finally takes a step back, finally leaning against one of the big hall doors. She’s against one, now, but the other is open, and Shepard finally has to move up to grip her head as some sort of grounding motion.

"Tim, stop, I’m trying to help you—"

Her breathing is noticeably more labored, but she’s still trying, still reaching for him, even as she reels for some better memory to pull her out of the gulch.