It hadn't been very long for Rawdon at all, in fact if it hadn't been for the change of date, and the snow around the station, he might've believed that it had just been a horribly vivid night terror.
There wasn't much at home for him, after all. He'd felt like he was burning up, he was desperately thirsty, the mosquito net had been moving gently in a humid breeze. He'd tried to call out for Shepard and nothing but a dry rasp had come. He watched the silhouettes of people moving outside the material, murmuring to each other in a foreign tongue.
He'd faded out watching a woman finger prayer beads. And so much time had passed. He'd been more than a little shaken up, but on hearing from Shepard and Bryn again, it all felt like a hazy dream again. He just needed to shake it off and wake up properly. He was a little grimy, and dressed in a partial military uniform, but the fever had disappeared again as soon as he was back on the station.
Rawdon smiled to himself as he heard her voice, sounding about as dry as his own calls had been. He turned in the direction of the sound, and rounded a corner only to come face to face with her.
"Shepard. Oh, thank God," he murmured, reaching out to pull her into an embrace whether she wanted one from this grubby man or not.