Playing ME3, it's always bothered me that there's still a mug on the table in Life Support. The first time I went in there after Thane's death and saw it there, I about lost it. So hang on to your hankies, folks—this is gonna be a sad one.

The Shattered People

Abishek Pakti.
Alexei Dubyanski.
Carlton Tucks.
Charles Pressly.
Harvey J. Gladstone.
Helen M. Lowe.
Kaiden Alenko.
Mandira Rahman.

Amaryllis Shepard had made it a point, ever since the installation of the Memorial Wall on the crew deck of the Normandy, to stop and read each name on the list every time she stepped off the elevator. All had been her crewmates, her responsibility, and she had failed them. Some had been her friends. Every one of them had given their lives protecting their galaxy, and they deserved to be remembered.

Monica Negulesco.
Orden Laflamme.
Richard L. Jenkins.
Rosamund Craven.
Talitha Craven.
Addison Chase.
Amina Waaberi.
Caroline Grenado.

They became a mantra that kept her focused on what she was fighting for. Each name added to the list was a shot in the arm, fuel for the fire that kept her going as this war descended further and further into absolute hell.

Germeen Barret.
Hector Emerson.
Jamon Bakari.
Marcus Grieco.
Mordin Solus.
Raymond Tanaka.
Robert Pelawa.
Silas Crosby.

But the last one threatened to extinguish that fire entirely.

Thane Krios.

Shepard trailed her fingers across the letters, tears blurring her vision until she could no longer read them. Thane's days had already been numbered when first they'd met. She'd known from the outset that his illness would inevitably kill him. Then she'd watched helplessly as that smug Cerberus bastard Kai Leng had run him through, instead. She had prayed at his bedside as he'd drawn his last agonized breath. She had closed his eyes with her own hand, and with that same hand had placed his name on this wall. And yet, to see the name of the man she had loved—still loved, would always love—on a monument to the dead… it tore her apart afresh every time.

She choked back a sob, her knees threatening to drop her to the deck. The tears spilled hot and insistent down her face, and she swiped at them angrily as if she could stem their flow. She couldn't allow herself to fall apart. Not here, not now. Not in front of the crew.

It was hard to breathe, though. Her head spun dizzily as she tried to force herself back into the role of Commander Shepard, hero of the Alliance, savior of the Citadel. A leader with a war to win. But it was no use. Right now, she was only Amaryllis, lover of Thane. And there was one place she could go to be just that, for a little while.

The air in the Life Support bay was warm and dry as always, but almost everything else was different. Gone were the faint odors of gun oil and herbal tea that had once permeated this room like incense. The shutter was drawn over the window that looked out onto the drive core, and the shelves on the wall were bare. But the table was still there, and the desk lamp, and two chairs—and a mug. There was a goddamned mug on the table, waiting there as if Thane had just stepped out and would be back at any moment.

She had always been able to find him here, reading or meditating or meticulously cleaning his rifle. Always with a steaming mug of tea by his elbow. Always ready to put aside whatever he was doing to give her his undivided attention. His crushed-velvet voice echoed in her ears: "Time for me is short, siha, but any I have is yours to take."

How long would it be, she wondered, before she could no longer remember the sound of his voice? Would it make his absence less painful when she forgot the sensation of his scales against her skin? Would she feel better when she couldn't picture the onyx and emerald of his eyes?

Did she even want to feel better, if that was what it would take?

Perhaps because of the differences between our species, he had written in the letter she'd read and reread over and over again, I can hope that time will treat you with kindness and dim the hurt of my passing to faded recollections that a drell would forever remember with perfect clarity.

But it wouldn't be kindness, to forget. As painful as the memories were, they were all she had left of him, and therefore precious. Shepard collapsed into one chair, her back to the shuttered window, facing the spot where Thane had always sat. She placed her palms flat on the center of the table and closed her eyes, feeling his cool hands close over hers. She let the memories wash over her, clutching desperately at every last detail, trying to hang on as long as she could, wishing, not for the first time, that she had the indelible perfect memory of a drell. She thought it would be comforting to know that not one single instant of their time together would ever fade from her mind.

The tears fell freely now. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, and the room reverberated to the sounds of a broken heart.

Before long, however, she was shaken out of her reverie by the whisper of the door sliding open. Anger flared hot and bright behind her eyes as she looked up to glare at the intruder. She didn't have it in her to pretend to be okay right now. Couldn't everyone just leave her alone for a few goddamned—

But it was just Liara. If there was one person on this ship that she didn't have to pretend for, it was her. "Shepard," the asari said gently. "I thought I might find you here."

Her soft, breathy voice was a balm on Shepard's shattered nerves. "Hey," she managed with a weak smile.

"I just wanted to see how you're holding up. How you're really holding up, I mean, not the brave face you put on for the crew." Liara sat down across from her, and Shepard bit back a ridiculous objection. That's Thane's chair. But when she reached out to take Shepard's hands, the commander couldn't stop herself from jerking them back—it was too much.

Liara looked puzzled, but to her credit, she didn't pry.

"It's been… hard," Shepard croaked. "Really… really hard." She drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I came in here because this room used to be his. It's wrong, though. It looks wrong, it smells wrong."

"The Alliance cleaned everything out when they retrofitted the Normandy."

Shepard shook her head. "That's just it. Somehow, after all this time, and all the rebuilding and the cleaning and the painting, this is still here." She snatched up the mug from where it sat and slammed it back down in front of Liara. "Why the hell is this here?" she demanded, her voice rising in pitch and volume. "Who would have known? Who would have thought? Who would have cared?"

The Shadow Broker's gaze dropped to the mug, then returned to Shepard's flushed and tear-streaked face. "I would," she whispered.

The breath stilled in her throat, and Shepard froze. "…you?" she gasped hoarsely.

Liara nodded. "I put it there shortly after I came aboard, as a sort of variant on an asari tradition of setting an extra place at the table for absent friends." She shrugged. "It seemed… appropriate, I guess. Even more so now that he's…"

"We have a lot of absent friends, Liara," Shepard snapped. "And you barely knew him."

"That's true," Liara admitted, "but I know he was very special to you. And… you are very special to me."

Her words made Shepard's head spin and her vision go white with shock and fury. She was really going to do this? She was really going to do this now? Like that? "You. Did. Not. Just say that," she bit out, trembling, her voice going dangerously soft.

Liara frowned in confusion, then her eyes snapped very wide. "What—no! Oh, Goddess, that's not what I… I wouldn't dream of… Shepard, I… no!" Mortified, she buried her face in her hands. "I only meant, as your friend… I thought it would help, maybe cheer you up a little. Clearly I was wrong."

The anger faded as quickly as it had come, leaving a cold, hollow numbness in its wake. "No, it's… it was a nice gesture, Liara," Shepard mumbled, wiping away fresh tears. "I'm sorry, I'm being stupid."

"You're grieving." Liara gave a wan smile. "And I'm as awkward and inarticulate as ever."

Shepard snorted. "What a pair we are, huh?" She slumped back in her chair with a heavy sigh, avoiding her friend's gaze. "I don't… I don't know how much longer I can do this," she confessed. "Sometimes, I just want to go to the Council and to the Alliance and say, 'I told you so.' To let them deal with the mess they got themselves into by ignoring me. To sit back and watch the galaxy burn, and wait for the end."

Liara gasped, horrified. "Shepard! You don't really—"

"No, not really," Shepard said with a dismissive wave. "Because then I remember that everyone who's died has someone who loved them. Someone who feels exactly like I do now. And it's on me to stand up to the Reapers and say, 'Not one more.' It's on me to rally all those shattered people to put up a fight that's probably hopeless, anyway. And every life lost along the way, every world that falls before I've completed my mission—that's on me, too."

"That is a very heavy burden to bear, Shepard."

A bitter laugh escaped before Shepard could rein it in. "Thane said the same exact thing, once." She toyed with the mug, spinning it between her hands and staring into its empty depths. "In fact, it was the last time I saw him before…"

Liara said nothing, allowing Shepard to gather her thoughts.

"He was one of the shattered people, too, you know," she finally continued. "Well, you're the Shadow Broker, of course you know. Anyway, he used to say that I gave him perspective, that I reminded him that there was more to the galaxy than his past and his pain. But he did just the opposite for me." The mug twirled and settled, twirled and settled, wobbling ever more precariously each time she set it spinning. "He kept it personal. As long as I was fighting for him, for us, I could focus. Saving the galaxy—that's too big, too broad, to wrap your head around. Just me and him, though, our future… if I could secure that, everything else would fall into place." The sturdy mug finally toppled over with a resigned thunk. "But now he's gone, and it's like the floor's dropped out from under me. I don't know which way is up anymore."

This time, when Liara reached out to take her hands, Shepard didn't flinch away. "Focus on them, then," the asari suggested. "The Shattered People." The reverence in her voice made it a proper name. "Fight for them. They're your people now, too."

Releasing Shepard's hands, Liara stood, righting the mug before she left.

It stood silent witness to a silent promise.