Thane: Angels

The elevator on the Normandy was always slow. It had become something of a running joke among the crew, especially those who had served on the ill-fated SR-1. But today, the ride from the crew deck to the Loft seemed utterly interminable. Thane paced restlessly back and forth as it crept upward, his heart racing, a sick feeling churning in the pit of his stomach.

It had been all he could do to remain silent as Samara and Shepard had worked out their plan to get to Morinth. True, there had been no other viable option, no other way to bring down the rogue Ardat-Yakshi once and for all. But the thought of Shepard in the murderess's lair, unarmed, alone… it had been almost more than he could bear. Please, he had begged of Arashu, keep her safe. I cannot lose her, too.

And it seemed the Goddess had heard him: Shepard had returned from the encounter alive.

Ah, but the wait had been harrowing. Though Thane had heard of Ardat-Yakshi long before meeting Samara, he had assumed the tales to be exaggerated, the creatures themselves half a legend. Then the Justicar's pursuit had brought the Normandy to Omega.

Aria T'Loak's eyes flash. Her body tenses, and her arrogant, cavalier persona cracks a little—the pirate queen of Omega is frightened. "Nothing leaves a body quite so… empty… as an Ardat-Yakshi does."

That comment, which he had thought little of at the time, had haunted him later as he waited for EDI to alert him of Shepard's safe return. His imagination had conjured up images of eyeless sockets, shriveled skin, a black cavernous mouth fixed open in a silent scream. Of once-silken hair now brittle and breaking, of the dried-out husk of a woman practically weightless in his arms. The horrific specters had forced themselves into his consciousness until they felt as vivid and real as memory, and had left him shuddering, distracted and wondering if he was finally going mad. Thane was not a man given to flights of fancy; his imagination simply did not normally run away with him like that. But with nothing to do but wait, try to meditate and suppress the memories that threatened to bubble to the surface,

(blood splattered on the walls, the floor)

(her broken body flung twisted in a heap like a discarded doll)

his anxious mind had found another outlet for his fears. Now, at least, he could consign those fears firmly to the oblivion of unfoundedness.

At long last, the elevator slid to a halt. Thane was somewhat surprised to find Shepard's door unlocked—and just like that, the memories he'd spent the last hours pushing aside came screaming back.

I skid to a halt just outside our home, my heart slamming against my ribs. The door stands wide open. Irikah never leaves the door open, even when she's home. Especially when she's home.

The house is dark, too, and the reek of blood hangs heavily in the air. I draw my pistol and edge slowly inside, icy dread gnawing in my gut. It takes all the discipline I can muster to keep my breathing controlled and my steps silent. I want to shout their names, to dash from room to room until I find them, but if there are intruders here, I'll only get myself killed.

I end that sentence right there as firmly as I can.

The silence is oppressive, though, and soon I can stand it no longer. "Irikah?" I call out, but my voice emerges a barely audible croak. I clear my throat and try again. "Irikah! Kolyat!" Desperation reverberates in the shadows. Terror echoes from the walls.

There, a sound. Cautious footfalls approaching from behind. I whirl around to face the source of the noise, pistol leveled in one hand, biotics charged in the other, ready for a fight. If this is the fatherless thug who invaded my home and attacked my family, I swear to Kalahira he will not live to see the dawn.

But the figure that emerges from the dimness is small and trembling, flinching away from my gun with a cry. I drop my weapon, and Kolyat flings himself into my arms, sobbing. He seems unhurt, but to my horror, I realize he is covered in blood. "I can't wake Mama up," he chokes out. He hasn't called her "Mama" in years.

My blood runs cold. "Where is she?" I whisper.

Wordlessly, Kolyat points toward the kitchen.

I pry him off me as gently as I can. "Stay here, Kolyat," I command, though I don't know what's left to protect him from.

I round the corner into the kitchen and turn on the light, revealing a scene that, in my darkest nightmares, I haven't even allowed myself to fear.

There's blood splattered on the walls, the floor. So much blood—I squeeze my eyes shut; I can't look, but I must. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to look. To see Irikah, my wife, my angel, my siha, her broken body flung twisted in a heap like a discarded doll. Her sunset-colored eyes at once empty and accusing. I fall to my knees and—

Thane forcibly dragged himself out of the memory, bracing one hand on the wall to remain upright as he caught his breath. Old wounds, never truly healed, torn open afresh—whether by the memories themselves or the events that triggered them, he couldn't be sure. All he knew for certain was that the one person who could soothe his troubled soul was on the other side of that door.

He knocked politely, then keyed the controls without waiting for a response. He felt jittery, anxious, disconnected, and that brought out an impulsiveness in him he'd thought long dead.

And there she was, alive and unharmed, and so achingly beautiful Thane wondered for a moment if he was dreaming. "Please forgive the intrusion, siha," he managed through his daze,"but I had to see you." A few long strides brought him across the room, and he pulled her into his arms, if only to reassure himself that she was real. Really here. Really safe. Oh, he had wanted to do this for so long—

But something was wrong, very wrong. Shepard had tensed the moment he'd touched her, and though she didn't push him away, it was clear the contact was unwelcome. Thane let her go and took a half step back, studying her with wide eyes. Was she wounded, after all? Or had he made a grave error?

Shepard collapsed onto the end of her bed. "I'm sorry." Her voice was thin and brittle. "It's not you. I just… can't… right now."

Wounded, then, not in body but in spirit. She had not escaped Morinth unscathed, after all. Thane sat beside her, careful to keep a little distance between them if that was what she wanted, as the fear he'd only moments ago dismissed came roaring back. "What… did she do to you, siha?" he demanded, as gently as he could.

Shepard's answer came a little too quickly. "Nothing, Thane. I'm fine."

"Clearly, you are not," he replied, and it was only when Shepard jerked her hands back that he realized he'd reached out for them in the now-unconscious gesture of comfort they'd so often shared. It surprised him how much that small rejection hurt: almost as much as her refusal to open up to him here, even after he'd shared the darkest chapter of his life with her. He appealed to that intimacy now. "Will you not place your trust in me," he pleaded, "as I have placed mine in you?"

"There's nothing to tell!" Shepard insisted, shaking her head and staring down at her knees. "She didn't hurt me. Samara was right there—she never had the chance."

Thane gritted his teeth so he wouldn't sneer at the name. He hadn't gotten to know the ancient asari very well yet, and he very much wanted to sympathize with her. If it were he, charged with hunting down and killing Kolyat… well. He didn't know how one earned such an assignment, nor did he particularly care to find out. It was unimaginably cruel, but her methods were equally so, and he felt nothing but bitterness and anger toward her. Her Code had replaced her conscience. "Samara. The Justicar who would use an innocent person as bait for an Ardat-Yakshi," he bit out. He failed to see the justice in that.

Shepard's head snapped up and she stared at him for a silent moment, deep brown eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her expression was inscrutable. "Says the assassin who would use orphan children to spy for him," she snarled suddenly. "You hypocrite."

Her words cut deep. Thane wanted to argue, to insist that the drala'fa who'd traded secrets for trinkets had never been in the kind of danger Shepard had faced today—not because of him, anyway. He could never have forgiven himself if a child had been hurt or killed getting him intel. And he suspected that, had Shepard fallen victim to Morinth's murderous desires, Samara would have harbored little such guilt.

Maybe he was wrong. He hoped he was.

But he didn't want to fight with her. They were both bruised and battered enough already. Besides, if he were truly honest with himself, he knew this had little to do with Samara, anyway. He'd come up here so full of selfish need, only to find her in just as vulnerable a state. He belatedly realized that if she'd wanted to see him, she would have come down to Life Support herself. Instead, he'd invaded her space at a time when she probably just wanted to be alone. "You must forgive me, siha," he said hoarsely, bowing his head. "The last time I was not present to protect someone I… someone I loved…" He raised his eyes back to hers, unable to finish. But she knew how that story ended. His words were an offering, a promise and a plea. His heart in her hands.

Shepard looked stricken.

Thane could only watch helplessly as a dozen different emotions flickered across her face, finally settling on something akin to horror. She gaped at him for a long moment, then, abruptly and without a word, stood and stumbled over to the aquarium, staring into the tank as she gathered her thoughts.

What those thoughts might be, Thane could only guess. She seemed to relax at first, but then her fingers curled into her palm and she struck the glass in a gesture of frustration and anger. Finally, she turned around and slid to the floor with a strangled sound that stilled the breath in his throat.

It seemed he had misread the situation, badly. Thane had never been particularly adept at reading human emotions, and though he had learned much since joining the crew of the Normandy, it was clear he still had a long way to go. Perhaps Shepard had always intended the flirtations they'd shared to be nothing more than that. Perhaps, though it tore him apart to think so, he had mistaken her kindness and generosity for a love she didn't intend—the kind of love he ultimately didn't deserve, anyway. And now, by doing so, he had only compounded her distress. He had to school his voice carefully to hide his own. "Siha," he ventured, barely above a whisper, "if I have said something to offend you, or if I have… misunderstood your intentions… I am sorry." The words tasted like ashes and fell dead at his feet, crushing what remained of his soul into dust and leaving him empty. Hollow.

But Shepard seemed shocked, and lurched back to her feet with a cry. "No! Damn it, Thane! You didn't… I… it's not like that!" Her fingers tangled in her hair, her breathing ragged as she stared at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. "I just… I need… Can we talk about this later? Please?"

Thane released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his lungs protesting painfully even as relief crashed over him in a wave that left him reeling and dizzy. Never had he been happier to be wrong. She wasn't pushing him away entirely, as he'd feared—she just needed time. And though he had little remaining, he would gladly give her all of it. "Of course," he breathed. With a silent prayer of thanks to Arashu, he rose and started for the door, but stopped as he passed where Shepard stood slumped against the aquarium. His hands itched to take hold of hers, but he willed them to be still. "You made a promise to me, not long ago," he said to her. "You said you would be here for me, whatever I needed. Know this," he continued quickly, his heart breaking a little at the anger that flashed in her eyes, "the same offer stands for you."

The anger faded from her face, leaving her eyes wide and full of tears.

Thane gave a small bow. "Good night, siha. When you are ready, I will be waiting."

But as he forced himself to walk away, he was stopped in his tracks when she seized his hand, apparently as much to her surprise as his. When he turned back to face her, though, she said nothing, only staring at him as if begging him to see the storm churning behind her eyes, and to understand.

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and left.

He would give her whatever time she needed. Until then, he would survive on the tiny spark of hope, however faint, that she had kindled.