Author's Note:
This is the first time I've written for the Mass Effect 'verse, though I've wanted to for years now. I took a little bit of liberty with this scene, changing around some of the dialogue and actions to make it feel a little more natural. I just saw this scene again last weekend on my current play through (fifth or sixth time, I think), and just needed to write through the immense feels that hit me every time. I figure maybe someone else out there wants to relive the sadness, too, hahaha. Beginning part mentions my femShep's history.
Hope you guys enjoy, and I would love to hear fellow fans' thoughts :)
- Lily
In Jane Shepard's brief, but extremely eventful life, there had been numerous occurrences where she'd had to hide her emotions. When people looked at her, they had to see a strong, fierce leader—a woman who could see them through to the end. They couldn't see the devastation, the hurt, the fear, that she undeniably felt, just like everyone else. Professionalism, and the determination to get the job done—no matter what the mission might've been and no matter at what cost—had always come first. At the center of every plan of action, at the pinnacle of every gathering of survivors who looked for one to lead them, there she stood.
The time to feel would come later, in her own private quarters, in the downtime after victory—or so she'd told herself multiple times. It just had yet to happen. Even after losing her parents to the slavers, after losing her entire squad in one mission, even after dying . . . none of those times could have prepared her for what she felt now; the dread that coursed through her was crippling, forced her to fight for every breath she inhaled.
That parallel was not lost on her.
As she rushed through the Citadel, barely registering the people she brushed against in her hurry to get to Huerta Memorial, it felt like her heart was banging against the underside of her sternum. Her palms were sweaty, her lungs burned—it felt every bit like rushing headlong into a firefight. All she was doing was trying to beat the clock.
It sounded so simple, and yet, as she was waiting for the elevator to reach Huerta, it felt like everything in the world was against her. He'd said he had time; he'd urged her to go, to catch Kai Leng. Why, then, did it feel like that had been the wrong choice?
Why did it feel like they had everything but time?
In a gratingly polite, casual tone, the elevator announced, "Welcome to Huerta Memorial", and on any other given day, Shepard might've ignored it. Filed it away as background noise and, therefore, inconsequential. But today, right now, it felt like a punch to the gut, the ultimate insult to the situation.
There was no such thing as a "welcome" to a hospital. There just wasn't. There was nothing pleasant about visiting a friend or a loved one who was injured enough to earn an extended stay; there was no fluttering of excitement in her stomach, no smile on her face. There was just the weight that threatened to crush her, to pull her insides out like a well-placed Singularity.
There was only Thane.
Quickly, she made her way down the hall and through the scanner, her mind and heart already ahead of her in the inpatient wing. When they'd first met, Thane had told her he was dying. Though she'd known it for months, recognized that every passing day brought them closer to the end, it hadn't mattered at first. She'd acknowledged it, sure, but it hadn't held the same weight, hadn't been pulled down by the same gravity. Now . . . Now that the day to say goodbye might be upon them . . .
She wasn't ready. She didn't think she'd ever be ready.
A doctor stood in the middle of the hall, arms crossed and a finger pressed against his bottom lip as he stared across the way at a closed door. Shepard skidded to a halt just in front of him and he turned to her, eyes wide in surprise.
"I'm looking for a—a friend. Thane Krios?" she spat out in a breathless flurry of words.
The doctor frowned, his expression a mix of both confusion and concern. "Krios? I don't believe there's a patient here with that name."
Frustrated, Shepard gesticulated as she said, "He was just brought in with a stab wound to the abdomen. I was told he's in surgery?"
Understanding dawned on the doctor's face. "Ah, I see." Waving at her to follow him off to the side, he added, "Mr. . . . Krios is out of surgery now. He lost a lot of blood, and there's, unfortunately, quite the shortage of drell blood in supply on the Citadel. We found a match—his son, Kolyat—but because of the Kepral's Syndrome, his body is unable to produce more blood at the rate he needs. As things stand . . . he doesn't have long."
No, no, no. "I . . . Can I—" Shepard broke off, wringing her hands in an uncharacteristic motion. She couldn't remember the last time she was at such a loss for words.
He must have understood what she was trying to say, despite the fact that she was failing so miserably at expressing her thoughts. With a gentle hand under her elbow, he guided her to a nearby door. "He's just through here."
With a glance in the doctor's direction, she said, "Thank you," and the door slid open.
Just beyond, in a miniscule room that was exactly what Thane hadn't wanted out of the last days of his life, Kolyat stood over his father's hospital bed. The moment Shepard stepped over the threshold and the door slid shut behind her, it was as if all extraneous noise from the inpatient wing disappeared. All that was left was the faint, wheezing sound of Thane's breathing, and the occasional shift of leather from Kolyat as he moved from foot-to-foot.
As she took another step into the room, Kolyat finally raised his head and turned around, his expression unreadable. The fluorescent hospital lights caught the shift in the colors of his scales, transitioning from turquoise, to a jade green, and back. He held her gaze for a moment, before he finally spoke. "Commander Shepard. My father mentioned you were no longer incarcerated."
His voice was unexpectedly monotone—the tonal quality of drell voices didn't particularly help with that—and she narrowed her eyes ever-so-slightly. What was that supposed to mean? Was he upset that she hadn't been present in Thane's life the past few months? Was he judging her for something that had been out of her control? Now?
Mentally, Shepard reprimanded herself. Kolyat was likely simply stating a fact, one that Thane had probably mentioned to him in passing, or otherwise. Just because her brain was all over the place and she was still trying to process what was happening with Thane, didn't mean she needed to jump to all of these conclusions. It wasn't fair to Kolyat, and in turn, it was unfair to Thane.
With what little time Thane had left, she had no desire to pick a fight—especially if it was for no reason. When Kolyat continued, she felt especially bad for even considering the alternative.
"I don't know if you remember me," he began, hesitating for a second before he added, "I'm Kolyat Krios. I came to donate blood, and well . . ."
He trailed off, gesturing slightly to Thane behind him. Shepard followed his train of thought, her eyes locked on Thane's mostly still form as she heard him add, "He asked me to take off his oxygen mask so he could be comfortable. I don't think it will be very long."
This time, the emotion in his voice was evident. This was a son, faced with the prospect of losing his father, and his every word was saturated with grief and uncertainty. For a brief moment, Shepard allowed herself to feel on the outside. Her eyes slid shut, and she took a deep breath before she opened them again.
Meeting Kolyat's seemingly bottomless gaze, she quietly said, "Your father helped me save a lot of lives. I'd like to be here, if that's okay."
Before Kolyat responded, Shepard clenched her fists at her sides. It wasn't her place to demand that she be present, no matter how much she and Thane cared for each other. Especially considering Thane and Kolyat's strained—or rather, nonexistent—relationship over the past few years, he had every right to want this time alone with his father. But every ounce of her wanted to be in the room with Thane, holding his hand as he approached the shore. She knew she couldn't physically help him, and she doubted that it would help her all that much in hindsight, but she knew that she wanted it, nonetheless.
When she looked back at Kolyat, and he nodded, relief flooded through her. Gradually, she relaxed her hands and took a step towards Thane's bed. As she approached, he rolled his head on the soft pillow beneath him. His lips curved upwards in a faint shadow of a smile as he looked at her.
"Siha," he greeted, in that rough, gravelly voice of his that she loved so much. It broke her heart knowing that, soon, she would never hear it again. "I'm afraid I've picked a bad time to leave."
Her eyes stung with the promise of coming tears, and she shook her head with vehemence. "No, Thane. You couldn't disappoint me, not even now," she reassured him in a soft voice, reaching out to clasp his hand in her own. As always, the dry, coarse texture of his skin irritated her own, and she knew she'd likely go to bed with a rash, but she couldn't care less.
Again, the corner of his lips quirked upwards. "Such pleasant things from your lips—"
With every additional word, she could hear the airiness in his breath, the wheezes from deep within his lungs, increase. Finally, he broke off with a heavy cough that escalated into a fit that was longer than comfortable. After taking what she assumed was meant to be a deep breath, though it sounded incredibly shallow in comparison, he finished. "Excuse me. Breathing is difficult."
With a gentle hand, she traced the pleats of the red folds along his face. "Don't apologize."
Slowly, and with less strength than she'd ever seen from him, he reached up with his other hand to cradle hers. His reflective eyes, deep pools of onyx that she'd come to find comforting, met her own. "Siha, it will be soon. I need to know if the councilor survived."
Shepard opened her mouth to respond, but Kolyat cut her off. "Yes, Father. Three are alive, thanks to you and Shepard's efforts. Udina instigated it. He is dead."
Briefly, Thane's eyes slid shut, a second after the thin inner membrane eclipsed his pupils. When he opened them again, he said, "There is something I must do before it gets worse." He looked over at her again, before adding, "I must—"
A cough interrupted his urgent thought. This time, it was worse than the last fit. His shoulders curled as he pulled himself forward, folding in on himself as they wracked his entire body. In an effort to help, he brought his hand to his mouth, hiding it from their view. It did little good. Feeling helpless, Shepard smoothed the sheets between them, reaching out to Thane more than once as the fit refused to cease. She wasn't sure what to do, where to put her hands, and it was the first time she felt like everything was so absolutely beyond her control. Eventually, she settled for leaning forward, her fingertips mere centimeters from Thane's shoulder.
Seeing that the end was nearer than either of them hoped, Kolyat folded his hands in prayer.
Finally, Thane took a long, shaky breath, rolling onto his back. "Kalahira, mistress of inscrutable depths, I ask forgiveness. Kalahira, whose waves wear down stone and sand—"
Another coughing fit broke off his prayer, and Shepard lowered her gaze to her upturned palms where they rested on the bed sheets. The tears returned, and this time, they slid down her cheeks. When Thane was no longer able to continue, Kolyat's voice filled the silence in the room.
"Kalahira, wash the sins from this one and set him on the distant shore of the infinite spirit." His voice was even, confident, and Shepard glanced over at him through her tears, surprised to finally realize that he'd grown so much from when she and Thane had gone chasing after him on the Citadel.
Thane, too, must have felt the same way. His coughs subsided, and he looked at his son with pride in his eyes. "You speak as the priests do, Kolyat. You have been spending time with them," he noted with awe. He smiled, and Shepard couldn't help but mirror his joy.
Kolyat nodded, though his expression was drawn, his gaze focused on the floor. Without another word, he moved around the bed to stand beside Shepard. Almost hesitantly, he procured a small, black book from his back pocket, cradling it in his hands. "I . . . brought a prayer book. Commander, would you care to join me?" he asked, his gaze wide and hopeful as he stared at her.
Shepard was honored he even chose to ask, knowing that she was human and therefore unfamiliar with their religion. However, she knew Thane was deeply spiritual, and Kolyat was likely trying to recognize that was much as possible. With a gentle smile, she nodded. He returned the gesture, before moving closer to her so she could see the page. He'd even gone so far as to find a translated version, and she was moved by the gesture.
Kolyat cleared his throat. "Kalahira, this one's heart is pure, but beset by wickedness and contention." When he finished his line, he gently nudged her, encouraging her to pick up where he left off.
Leaning over slightly, Shepard looked for where Kolyat's finger rested, and took a deep breath before she read, "Guide this one to where the traveler never tires, the—" She paused as she read ahead, tears swimming in her view again. In a quivering voice, she continued aloud, "—the lover never leaves, the hungry never starve. Guide this one, Kalahira, and she will be a companion to you as she was to me."
Her throat closed up on the last word, and she faced Thane again. He blinked, once, twice, before slowly turning his head away to gaze out the window. She watched as his chest rose ever-so-slightly, before falling once again. When it didn't move afterwards, she sucked in a shaky breath.
Oh, Thane . . . Slowly, she walked closer, reaching out to cradle his still face for a brief moment before reaching up to close his eyes. She bent closer, lowering her forehead to rest on his chest as she murmured, "Goodbye, Thane. Meet you across the sea."
A second passed, and then two, before she finally straightened. As she backed away, she let her fingers trail along his body as she turned towards Kolyat. Her hand dropped to her side as she quietly asked, "Kolyat . . . why did the last verse say 'she'?"
Briefly, his gaze flickered to the floor. "The prayer was not for him, Commander," he explained, as his gaze shifted to his father's now-prone form. "He has already asked forgiveness for the lives he has taken." A beat passed, and then he met her gaze again. "His wish was for you."
Sorrow washed over her, and she had to look away from Kolyat as she processed what he said. Even in death, Thane was as selfless as she'd known him in life. Now that he was gone, she felt impossibly lost, as if the very thing anchoring her to this world had blinked out of existence. The galaxy couldn't have that. They needed the Commander Shepard that they'd seen and come to depend on, a born leader that would save them from the Reapers.
But right now, she was simply a woman whose heart ached for the man she loved, ached for when she'd meet him across the sea.
The fact that there was very little chance she'd survive this war made her ache for the people she could not save if she failed, but it did give her a faint glimmer of hope; if she didn't survive, that meant she wouldn't have to wait very long to see him again.
Siha,
I write this with a heavy hand, knowing you will read this letter when I am no longer able to share my thoughts. I am dying, Siha. Perhaps because of the differences between our species, 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.
Selfishly, however, I could not leave this world without leaving a piece of me behind that would never fade.
I once accepted my fate. Nothing remained but a shell destined to die. I only had to choose the when and how of my passing. I had refused to be confined to a bed, gasping horribly as my life beeped away to machinery I had no use for. I thought of my Irikah, broken, bloodied, and betrayed by my absence. Of Kolyat, small and afraid, bravely pushing at his eyes to stem the flow of tears I had entrusted to him to cry… for both our sakes.
The expectation to move swiftly to my end vanished upon meeting with your cause. You awoke me, Shepard. My heart quickened its sluggish beat if only to remain at your side and protect you with everything that I am. I was simply content to watch, take the time left given and praise all I know for allowing me to walk my final days with hope and certainty that I am worthy of more than my cold isolation, solely because you believed.
I love you. If all else whispers back into the tide, know this for fact. By grace given me by the Goddess Arashu, I bid her divine protection to you, my warrior-angel, my Siha, to succeed in your destiny. To light your path through the coming darkness. To give you hope, when all seems lost.
I will await you across the sea.
Thane