This is my own catharsis after replaying the series again with the Citadel DLC. It made me want to reunite my favorite romance, even if just for a moment.

All characters belong to Bioware.

It was dark, but Shepard wasn't afraid. She indulged in the darkness, reaching out to the unknown with senses unencumbered by what she expected to see. A fresh breeze mingled with brine and just a shadow of coming rain. She breathed in long and deep, filling her lungs until her back arched into the shifting ground beneath her. Sand. Her fingers crawled and twisted down to lay buried in the soft, cool beach, then raised again to leave her skin coated in a delicate dust. Fine, smooth, each grain like polished glass. Shepard smiled.

Her muscles tensed from a sudden coldness slithering beneath her bare legs. Heel to calf to knee — the wetness slid up, floating bubbles tickling her skin, and away again — knee to calf to heel — the ebb transforming her legs into a natural curve of the shore. The sound of the winds whistling kissed her ears like a lover's breath — there, but almost lost beneath the crashing waves screaming for her attention from a distance.

Shepard didn't want to open her eyes. She was content, a feeling she hadn't experienced in years. Long before reapers and collectors and indoctrinated Spectres consumed her thoughts. Before the galaxy looked to her for all the answers. Before anyone cared about the name Shepard. She didn't want to wake from such a wonderful dream.

But a voice was in the breeze caressing her. Barely more than a whisper, it's message drowned amidst the rolling seas. The real world refused to let her go it seemed. She had a duty to perform. She . . . had a choice to make. Right? People needed her to do something. Someone . . . was waiting for her.

The voice pressed on. Though she couldn't hear the words, Shepard knew it was calling to her. She couldn't ignore it, she never would. Savoring one final breath of salty sea air, Shepard opened her eyes, and all she could do was stare. It was beautiful. Reds and yellows and oranges cascading and colliding behind wisps of clouds that veiled the blushing sky like a bride walking to the horizon. White caps danced in currents on the sea, leaping and swirling with timed precision. And the ocean, dark and unfathomable at a distance, yet at her feet it shimmered of blues and greens so clear it drew her in — welcomed her.

This didn't make sense. Shepard pushed herself up to sit in the glistening pink sand with the ease of a young body that had never suffered the pains and scars of constant battle. This wasn't right. She should have woken up to . . . the war. She was fighting the reapers. She was . . .

Shepard closed her eyes and shook her head out. She needed to wake up and finish her job, though she couldn't remember what that was anymore. But the soothing sound of the seas maintained, and when her eyes opened again war was nowhere near her shore. It didn't feel like a dream either. She felt the grit between her toes, the wet sand still matted against her legs as she stood, the wind rustling the bottom of her dress against her thighs. It was too real.

Except the beach felt as endless as the ocean before her. No buildings in the distance, no docks, no boardwalks. Just sand and sea and an eternal setting sun. That and a voice in the wind still beckoning to her. Too faint to truly hear, Shepard followed the breeze's path — listening.

How long she walked, she didn't know. It was both forever and only a few steps; across the everlasting shore and yet only as far as the next wave breaking against her feet. The voice faded the closer she got, but a new sound replaced it. Footsteps, the quiet crunch of compressed sand walking even as she stopped. The winds stilled and the sound became clear — behind her.

"I've missed you, Siha."

Shepard turned and any resolve to wake back to the war left her. How long had it been since she'd had a good dream? Since she'd imagined the beautiful crackle of his voice? Too long. Far too long. And at any moment she might lose this — the calm, the beach . . . Thane. Illusion, delusion, dream, whatever it was Shepard wasn't about to waste this chance. Closing the few steps separating them, she yanked him into deep kiss. His arms slid around her waist and pulled her tight until only her toes remained standing in the sand. His hands were strong again, not like the last time he'd held her in the hospital with Kepral's Syndrome slowly siphoning the life from his body. Shepard followed the dips and ridges in his skin like a forgotten map reopened after years lost, and it earned her a thick, rumbling chuckle that trembled against her lips.

"I see you still know how to say hello," he said.

"I miss you, Thane." Shepard closed her eyes, rested her forehead against his, and prayed to whatever god was willing to listen. "Please let me sleep a while longer."

He relaxed his hold so she stood on her own again, the sand freshly wet from a receding wave. His fingers danced up her body only to come to rest along her neck, thumbs sneaking out to trace along her collarbone. "Siha, this is no dream. I told you I'd be waiting for you, though I would have been willing to wait longer so you could've found happiness."

Shepard stepped back, her trained senses scouring the world around her with strange questions in need of answers. Thane's touch was more than crafted memories sewn together to ease the pain; it was firm and tender and new. She could smell the sea in the air, feel each grain of sand separate under her feet, see every ripple and eddy in the water. It was all so vivid. So real.

But it couldn't be. She was in the middle of the war. People depended on her to fight, to keep going — the reaper descended through the broken sky like an angry god; they had to run; she had to make it before —

Shepard rubbed the smooth skin on her arm, waiting for the burns and cuts and warped armor to return. She waited for pain that never came. "I was running for the Citadel. We were on Earth. Our last chance. I . . . I . . . dammit! Why can't I remember what happened?"

Thane took her hands from their search for a battle remembered and held them between his own. "This is not a place of misery, and you did not go peacefully."

"But we were so close . . . Anderson and I . . . we made it to the Citadel and . . ." Shepard focused on the sound of Anderson's voice, the piles of dead being harvested by the keepers, the Illusive Man lifting his own gun. It should've been over, but something was wrong — the Catalyst spoke in the echo of old voices; it showed her the future; she had to choose.

Shepard took a deep breath, exhaling more than the memories away. "I . . . made my choice."

"There was never a doubt how far you were willing to go to stop the reapers," he said. "Though I had hoped you'd survive the war, that you'd live a long, happy life."

She laughed to herself. "There'd be another war eventually, and I'm sure I'd get dragged into that somehow."

"You would go willingly. You're a protector, Siha. Perhaps this is the only place someone like you can find peace."

Thane stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her again. It was a strange feeling. She'd spent so much of her life being the strong one, the one who could make the tough choices, the one everyone looked at to be saved by, but for once she just let the responsibility go and allowed herself the comfort of his embrace.

"Peace. Haven't had that in a while." Not that it didn't sound nice. Shepard wriggled her toes deeper into the beach as another wave loosed the silt and sand. Peace might be a welcome change of pace for a while. "So what happens now? A peaceful eternity?"

"I'd rather think of it as an eternity together."

She leaned in close, a smile on her lips as she stared into midnight. "Eternity's sounding a lot less peaceful. I like it."

"As do I," Thane said, offering a slow, soft kiss that invited so much more. "Let us hope no one attempts to bring you back to life, again."

Shepard grinned. "Don't worry, this side of the sea is quite enticing."