This chapter touches on themes that may be triggering for some. I've tried to handle them with sensitivity, but I have little more than my imagination to go on, plus it's all run through the filters of Shepard's POV, which I've never headcanoned as the healthiest of mindsets to begin with. Constructive criticism is welcome (as it is on all my work, but especially here).

Surrender

Shepard: Demons

Amaryllis Shepard barely paused as she stumbled past the aquarium, keying the feeder controls more by force of habit than conscious choice. She hastily stripped off her armor, letting pieces of purple and black ceramic, metal, and carbon fiber litter the floor. She would pick them up after she had a chance to take a shower and wash off the physical and mental grime of this last trip to Omega.

But as the last bit of gear thudded dully on the carpet, leaving her clad only in her dark undersuit, a bone-deep weariness seized her limbs. Suddenly, the bathroom was much too far away. Shepard collapsed onto her bed with a groan and sat with her face in her hands, unable to stop shaking.

She had faced death before. Hell, she had died before. But she had not gone quietly into the night. She had fought and kicked and clawed and screamed defiantly for every last moment, refusing to give up hope. It was who she was. Surrender just wasn't in her vocabulary, it never had been.

Until Morinth.

It had been easy to feign interest in the beginning. Shepard had always been a decent actress—command required it in certain situations. She had to project confidence and competence in front of her crew at all times, regardless of how uncertain or afraid she felt, or risk undermining her own authority. It was a skill she had honed and developed for years until it became second nature, and with Samara's guidance, it had translated well to this mission. Morinth had been utterly convinced, herself seduced by Shepard's carefully calculated persona.

But alone in Morinth's apartment, Shepard's control of the situation had deteriorated at a terrifying rate. The Ardat-Yakshi had been almost supernaturally compelling, and Shepard had found herself agreeing with her every word before her rational mind could catch up to what she was saying. So enthralled had she been, she had almost forgotten the mission. Finally, Morinth's eyes had gone black as she turned the full power of the asari mind upon her, and Shepard had lost herself in their depths. She had been fully prepared to surrender to Morinth's every desire, even as she knew it meant her own death. She had wanted it. And that left her feeling violated in ways she couldn't describe.

A knock sounded at her door, and it slid open before she could answer and send the visitor away. She shot to her feet, cursing herself for forgetting to lock it behind her—and her tension was only compounded when she saw who was there.

"Please forgive the intrusion, siha, but I had to see you." Thane's voice was strained, clipped, his movements uncharacteristically abrupt as he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms.

Shepard stiffened in his embrace, her head swimming with conflicting emotions. At any other time, she would have welcomed this. Their relationship had been blossoming slowly but steadily; neither of them had yet called it love, but it was becoming harder and harder to deny. The extent of their physical contact up this point had been just holding hands, and though she was determined to let him set the pace, Shepard had of late found herself wanting more. But right now, still reeling from her encounter on Omega, she didn't want to be touched, not by anyone. Not even him. Her stomach turned at the contact, words failed her, and she couldn't breathe.

Thane seemed to sense her discomfort and released her, but the wounded expression that flitted briefly across his face made her feel even worse. "I'm sorry," she croaked miserably as she sat back down. "It's not you. I just… can't… right now."

Thane settled beside her, folding his hands tightly in his lap, probably hoping she wouldn't notice their trembling. "What… did she do to you, siha?" he asked, his crushed-velvet voice laced with barely concealed horror. She had never seen him so rattled.

"Nothing, Thane," she said dismissively. "I'm fine."

He stared back at her, his eyes huge and dark and seeing right through her, so like and yet unlike Morinth's in their magnetic intensity. "Clearly, you are not." He reached out to take her hands, a habit, then caught himself when she twitched away. "Will you not place your trust in me, as I have placed mine in you?"

You manipulative bastard, Shepard thought, without really meaning it. She shook her head. "There's nothing to tell," she insisted, even as a part of her whispered the temptation to fall back into his arms and confess to him exactly how Morinth had broken her. But that small voice was drowned out by the part that screamed to be left alone. "She didn't hurt me. Samara was right there—she never had the chance."

"Samara." Thane's voice was cold, his eyes narrowed. "The Justicar who would use an innocent person as bait for an Ardat-Yakshi."

The bitterness of his tone surprised her, cutting through her self-pitying haze, and she studied him curiously. His normally unflappable composure was hanging by a bare thread, strained to the breaking point. There was tension in his posture, anger in the set of his jaw, and genuine fear in his eyes. It was difficult to look at, knowing as she did that she—or, more specifically, his caring for her—was the cause of it. "Says the assassin who would use orphan children to spy for him," Shepard snarled, perhaps more harshly than she'd intended. "You hypocrite." That, she meant.

Sort of. It wasn't fair, and she knew it. But then, neither was his attitude toward Samara. Shepard had volunteered to help her, had helped plan the operation, had agreed to it freely. There really had been no other way to take Morinth down, no other way to ensure Samara's complete commitment to this most critical of missions. Surely he knew that. And of course the danger had been very real and very great—when wasn't it?

And yet this time had been different. Shepard's usual modus operandi—take a fire team, shoot your way in, secure the objective, shoot your way out—would have proven disastrous. Instead, she had gone alone and unarmed to face an opponent who had powers she could never hope to match, and had deliberately placed herself under her sway. She had had to rely utterly upon Samara for her rescue, to trust the Justicar literally with her life. And Thane, who had accompanied her on nearly every mission since joining the crew at Ilium, had been forced to wait helplessly on the sidelines.

Nevertheless, her words had their intended effect of causing the fear and anger to fade from his face—but that expression was replaced by one altogether more difficult to name and heartbreaking to see. He bowed his head, as if ashamed. "You must forgive me, siha," he rasped. "The last time I was not present to protect someone I… someone I loved…" He raised his eyes back to hers, something in them pleading for her understanding.

The breath left her in a rush, her head spinning dizzily with a dozen different simultaneous reactions. Protect? Yeah, right. She was Commander fucking Shepard, she didn't need anyone to protect her. ("I don't need your help—I want it," he'd said) Did she? Wait. He was talking about Irikah, his late wife, murdered while he was away from home. Right. Of course. He wouldn't want to see that happen again to someone he—

Her racing thoughts stuttered to a halt.

Someone he loved.

Oh.

There it was, finally. The timing could not possibly have been worse, but there it was. The words hung in the air between them, breathless and shimmering, demanding a response with an insistence Thane was far too considerate to have consciously intended. In fact, they seemed to have torn themselves from him almost against his will. Forcing him to surrender to the truth he might otherwise have denied.

And forcing her into a conversation she just wasn't prepared to have. Not now. Not with the humiliation and terror of Morinth's manipulations still fresh in her mind, not with the scars of that ordeal still bleeding. No, she needed time to recover, to pull herself together, before she could begin to address… this.

She couldn't bear to look at him any longer. One more instant and she would drown in those soulful dark eyes, would cry or scream or lash out—she wasn't sure which. Instead, she stood and crossed the room to the aquarium, bracing one hand on the tank and leaning her forehead against the cool glass, squeezing her eyes shut as a long, shuddering sigh escaped her.

Free of his gaze, she could begin to clear her mind and gather her thoughts. Her breathing slowly evened out as she struggled to think rationally. But a red-hot fury churned in her stomach and spread through her veins, and her hand curled into a fist to beat softly on the glass, once, twice. How could he be so selfish? To throw this at her, now…

You did just insist you were okay. You'd be just as mad if he didn't believe you.

He doesn't. He doesn't believe me, and he said it anyway.

He's trying to help you.

Well, he's failing. Miserably.

But he's trying. You're the one being selfish! Clearly he's in pain, too—but he's still trying.

Shepard turned around and slid to the floor with a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob. Arguing with herself—she really was losing it, wasn't she?

Thane shifted uneasily. "Siha." His voice was very soft, very resigned, and very, very controlled. It was only because Shepard knew him so well that she could hear the utter desolation in it, too. "If I have said something to offend you, or if I have… misunderstood your intentions… I am sorry."

"No!" Anger and frustration propelled her back to her feet, and she gritted her teeth. He had it all wrong! "Damn it, Thane! You didn't… I… it's not like that!" She raked her hands through her hair as she slumped back against the fish tank. Suddenly drained and numb, her voice quaked with unshed tears, coming out in little more than a whisper. "I just… I need… Can we talk about this later?" she begged, her eyes fixed on the floor. "Please?"

He let out a sigh that shivered with so much relief it was almost a moan. "Of course."

Shepard suddenly found she could breathe again, too.

Bowing his head, Thane closed his eyes briefly, then stood to leave. As he passed her, he paused. "You made a promise to me, not long ago," he said. "You said you would be here for me, whatever I needed."

She snapped her head up to stare at him in shock and indignation. Of all the inappropriate—

But there was not a trace of accusation in his expression, and he held up a hand to silence her. "Know this: the same offer stands for you." He gave a slight bow. "Good night, siha. When you are ready, I will be waiting."

As he turned away, Shepard's hand shot out as if of its own accord, seizing his. He turned back around to stare at her in surprise. A small smile tugged at his lips, and when she said nothing, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. Then he released her and was gone.

Too exhausted to move, Shepard leaned the back of her head against the tank and closed her eyes. The comforting silence of solitude gave her the space to confront the residual terror of Morinth's assault on her mind, her soul, her very being, that still roiled and flashed within her. And so Amaryllis Shepard surrendered to the storm, and wept until the tears ran dry.