Author's Note: Not a whole lot to say in this one. My second work in the Mass Effect fandom, this time with my own Shepard, Hypatia. This story focuses on the trauma that, although not portrayed in the game, Shepard must have suffered after her rather violent death. I hope everyone enjoys, and please review!
She used to love being weightless.
That moment when the Normandy made a Mass Relay jump, or when leaping over an obstacle when her armor's artificial gravity struggled for a brief instant to keep up with the fast change. For a moment, a fraction of a second, she was free. No weight from her bones, her armor, her gun, her hair. She felt like she could breathe only then, see clearly only then. It was as if time slowed down, and she savored it like a cup of cool water or the comforting heat of her gun on a cold night's mission.
But she was changed, watching her breath mist against the visor of her helmet as her insides seemed to bounce around against the cage of her ribs. For all her composure and grace in battle, her last breath was spent screaming, her pulse palpable through every inch of her body, eyes twitching and hands convulsing.
Thane noticed the disjuncture in her fighting style. She left him in awe; not an unnecessary shot fired, every option simultaneously assessed and weighed behind her silver eyes. Her motions were fluid, precise, dancer-like. She was his siha, fierce and beautiful and calculatingly deadly.
But there were habits, actions that spoke of recent development. She never leapt over obstacles or climbed to an available perch prime for shooting down targets. She would sooner walk around a ledge in search of another path than take the small jump. It wasn't a fear of heights, he noticed. The dizzying view from Illium and heights of the Citadel never phased her. Sometimes she was almost childlike in her awe, surveying the tiny people and dwindling buildings below.
All this information, a smile creases her lips as she gazes at him as they descend to the second deck after their last mission, sweat hangs from the tip of her nose as she stares down the barrel of her rifle, flashed before his mind as her hand, slender and pale when resting against the contrasting green of his arm, nearly slipped through his. He knew he looked anything but calm, eyes impossibly wide, grip tighter on the gloved appendage than need be as he hauled her forcefully in to the ship, her body slamming in to his as the airlock closed and the weight of the ship's gravity struck them.
Thane could hear many things happening around him at once; inquires from Miranda and Jacob, calls from Tali for someone to get Dr. Chakwas, and Jack yelling at everyone else to "Back up, she's having a panic attack, she can't breath if you fucking crowd her!".
He was aware, suddenly, of the rapid movements of the woman's chest against his, the clammy feel of her damp skin against his neck, her hair, usually so neatly twisted back, falling in messy waves and obscuring his view of her face. There was a strange noise coming from her, a whine, like a cornered animal, hitched occasionally with sobs.
These observations took him but a scant few seconds process, but it felt like time had stopped in the mean time. As gently as he could, the drell rolled her limp weight off him, her eyes wild and body twitching. She reached after him, hands gripping his shirt so hard that he didn't think he could have moved away from her if he tried. He tried to speak, but his mouth felt like it was filled with sand. White hair, a sarcastic smile, "You seem to spend a lot of time with the commander recently". Where was the doctor?
"Siha," his voice sounded rough, even to his own ears, and he could still hear Jack yelling at the humans, still trying in vain to move closer to the usually strong woman trembling on the floor. "Siha, I can't help. I don't know what's wrong."
"I'm suffocating," she sobbed, tears slipping from her eyes to fall in her hair like diamonds or distant stars against the black velvet of the night. She glanced out the window, a small frown on her usually happily smug features. "It would have been easier for her if the blast had killed her, but from what my team discovered, she suffocated after being jettisoned from the ship."
Jack was next to him, the scowl still fixed on her face, "I think Shepard's the only person in the galaxy who gives a shit whether I live or die", as she worked the clasps to loosen the armor the woman wore.
"You're safe, siha," he murmured as her hands released his shirt to instead find purchase on his shoulders as he drew close enough to rest his forehead against hers.
"You're safe," he murmured as Dr. Chakwas arrived on the bridge, carrying a small syringe filled with a faintly green liquid even as her trembling began to cease.
"You're safe," he murmured as the doctor shined the light in her eyes, clouded with exhaustion and residual panic and shame but ultimately clear and processing.
"You're safe," he murmured as she curled against his chest in the elevator, stripped of her armor and weapons and everything that sheltered her from the outside environment and the eyes of others. She was so much smaller, fragile and cold and breakable, a hardly-there weight anchoring him to the ground.
"You're safe," he said for the last time as she lay in her bed, still holding on to him even in sleep, her hair messy and a dark stain against the stark white of her pillow, her eyes a rose red against the faint tan of her skin. There were things that would need facing in the morning; her inevitable shame of losing face in front of most of her squad, her admittance to him about her recently outed mental conditions, and her, unknown to him, reaction to their relationship being rather suddenly pushed out in the open. But in the dark of the room, lit only by the faint glow of her fish tank and the blue numbers of her alarm clock, her skin a soft contrast against his own, he leaned against the headboard and let his eyes close. These things could be faced later, and needed no dwelling on at the moment. Her body dangling over the precipice, his hand the only thing keeping her from plummeting, the relief that takes his breath away when he feels her against him.
She was safe.