Rawdon didn't know how long he'd been on the station. He didn't know how long he was sleeping for between waking moments. He knew that time was passing. He knew the doctors worked on shift, and they changed outfits in between. He knew that he'd been through countless bags of fluids by now. So he knew it had been days at least, but it felt like a lifetime.
Dr Morgan had spoken to him in his lucid moments, even though that meant saying a few sentences, letting him sleep, then saying a few more. So he understood that he wasn't being treated anymore, only kept a comfortable as possible until his organs (most likely his kidneys first) gave up the fight. Dr Morgan was allowing him near unlimited pain relief - as much as he could ethically administer to him - and Rawdon wondered what the hell it would feel like without it. He was grateful that he wasn't alone on the island anymore.
Throughout it all, Commander Shepard had been a constant. Every time he'd opened his eyes, there she was - except this time, it wasn't her at all. Rawdon blinked lazily up at the Other Redhead as he tried to figure it out. He'd seen Bryn visiting his daughter, and he had a vague memory of her talking with Shepard at his bedside before now, perhaps even talking to him. It was hazy, but he knew that it was Bryn, and that was about the best he could manage right now.
"Mmhmm?" he tried to focus, to keep awake for whatever she had wanted him to hear.