Chapter Summary: Over tea with Thane, Shepard shares her memories of the Collector attack...and her death.
Tags/Warnings: Slow Build; Friends to Lovers; Demisexual Shepard; Garrus is a Great Best Friend; Swearing; Sexual Tension; Blood and Injury; Canon-Typical Violence; Rating Will Change Later in Story
Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.
Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.
Shepard sat with her hands wrapped around the tea mug, warming them. The comfortable temperature and dry air in life support hadn't changed, but she still felt chilled. Hell. I can't believe I'm about to do this, she shuddered, dread already coiling cold and heavy in her gut. How did our chat go from "I've missed our conversations" to…this? Describing my fucking nightmares. What a load of fun that will…not be.
But…I have to deal with it somehow, she confessed with reluctance. It's messing with my sleep, undermining my confidence, making me second-guess my judgment. I can't afford any of that—April is already hard enough, as months go. The entire crew needs to be at their best for this mission. And, well, that goes double for me.
Her conscience wouldn't stop nagging and needling, though. It demanded she revisit an earlier concern: Is this really fair to Thane?
A quieter voice, soft but insistent, harder to pinpoint, whispered in response. It can only be Thane. No one else, if not him.
She didn't want to question what that meant or where it came from, at least for now. It felt…right.
The handsome, enigmatic drell sat across from her, like always—though something had been a little different about him all evening. Not in a bad way, necessarily. In fact, except for his initial comments about her injury, he'd been smiling and chuckling more often. She just had this strong sense that something had changed, something she couldn't quite define.
He'd been a little less formal tonight, and a bit more…emotional, even spontaneous. Like that moment when he wouldn't let her leave and she almost ran into him. She just stood there, staring stupidly at that vest zipper, feeling the insane urge to keep reaching for it. And his intensity—always formidable—had been off the charts, laser focused on reading her expression and reactions. It made her feel as if she were a mark he needed to figure out and predict.
Maybe she was overthinking it. He's probably relieved I survived is all, she figured. Just trying to assess how well I'm recovering, like Garrus has been doing.
That, or my damaged brain is imagining things. So leave it be and move on, Morgan. وقف هدر الوقت.
"I guess the best way to do this is to dive in. My nightmare is mostly the final moments of the first Normandy. Should I start from the beginning? The beginning of the end, so to speak." She tried a small chuckle that quickly died. Okay, bad puns about death aren't funny. Good to know.
Thane gave her a grave nod, almost like he heard her absurd, inner monologue. She took a deep breath and swallowed the urge to giggle hysterically. And not the "funny, ha-ha" hysterical, either, she snarked. The other one. The "oh, she's lost it, time to call the white coats" kind.
Why in hell am I doing this again? Oh, yeah—stop the shitty nightmares. Well, "Nos morituri te salutamus," and so forth.
Fuck, now I'm even thinking in bad puns, she chastised. Must be Joker's influence. Or I'm delaying. Come on, mighty First Human Spectre—pull yourself together.
"It's early evening, and I'm on the bridge. We've been running in stealth mode, scanning systems in the Terminus for pockets of geth. After hours of careful scans with no results, I'm practically pinging off the bulkheads in boredom. So my XO, Charles Pressly, convinces me to take a break and grab a decent dinner." She paused, unsure how to help Thane understand the incredible immediacy and power of these memories. Wait a sec…he already knows, she realized. His memories work like this all the time. Woah—I don't think I could handle that kind of…overload.
"The scene—the sights, sounds, even smells—are so clear, so vivid, like they're happening right now. Pressly's concern for me when he suggests eating. Joker's wisecracks about serving meals in a place called a mess. I can even feel the crick in my shoulder—the one that always acts up when I'm tense or still for too long." She lifted her right arm a little and rolled the joint, trying to ease the tension filling her body. The movement drew a quick glance from Thane, but his gaze otherwise stayed steady, focused on her face.
"In the…nightmare, my location jumps to the crew deck. After taking Pressly's advice, I sit a bit, chatting with other late diners. Such an…ordinary moment, exactly like dozens of other dinners on the SR-1. Until everything changes." Thane took a deep breath with a slow exhale, like he needed to prepare for what came next. But maybe he's reminding me to breathe, she considered, so she spent a few second echoing his actions.
"Red lights start flashing—the visual cue for all crew to get to stations ASAP. In the dream, they're…distorted—too bright and too fast, reminding me of strobe lights in a cheap nightclub. Over the comm, Joker's voice warns everyone to brace for evasive maneuvers. I start for the bridge, but…this energy beam hits us before I get more than a few feet. The thing is…so damn powerful, like nothing I've ever seen before. It slices through Normandy's shields, armor, and bulkheads like they fucking AREN'T THERE."
She tried to wipe the stunned disbelief from her mind. The guilt at getting caught unprepared and hopelessly outmatched was harder to push away. Somehow, somewhere, I messed up, she derided. Missed some crucial detail or pattern. And my crew paid the price for my failure. "Automated force fields cover the hull breaches, but several people go down in the initial blast. Including Pressly." Her throat closed up, voice tapering off into nothing.
"Hell." Her hands swiped at the sudden wetness on her lashes. She hated crying, especially in front of other people. "I'm sorry, Thane. Part of me knows it's been two years, but most of me feels like it was just a few weeks ago."
"There is no shame in grief, Shepard." He was adding something from the drell lower register she'd read about; it wasn't quite audible, almost more vibration than sound. A soothing hum that…reminded her of a starship engine's deep, steady throb—ever-present, reliable, and reassuring. "Your loss saddens me. I regret my absence when you walked Alchera's surface, mourning your crew. I would have offered my support then. But know you have it now."
"Thank you," she murmured, a little surprised he even knew about that mission. She grabbed her tea again, wanting to hold something solid. "I…I appreciate that.
"Anyway, I rush to suit up, barking orders as I go. Kaidan—Kaidan Alenko, my ranking ground team member—is already in his gear and delivers a status report. Our defenses are gone, so I give the order to evacuate and tell him to get everyone into escape pods. The idiot stops to argue, insisting he and Joker won't abandon ship. He wastes a full fucking minute—a precious minute—and I'm about to punch him to get his ass moving before he gives in. But finally he decides to follow orders while I go after my stubborn helmsman."
Thane's eyes kept darting to her hands. She wondered why until awareness sank in—her fingers were clenched in a white-knuckled death grip around the mug. She took a breath to relax her hold, then sipped the tea for a long moment, closing her eyes as she swallowed. It'll get harder, so deal with it, she scolded. These are just memories. You've already survived the real thing. Sort of.
Continuing took all her willpower, and her voice refused to rise above a hushed whisper. "CIC is…ripped open. Only some force fields and my mag boots keep me on board. My helmet muffles everything, so it's…quiet. Eerie. Just the 'thunk, thunk' of my boots on the deck." She opened her eyes to gaze at Thane. This had to be affecting him, but he looked composed. He's always the epitome of tranquility, she marveled.
Well, almost always, she conceded, recalling their brief but tense standoff. And somehow, realizing his calm wasn't a constant, automatic thing made her feel better about her own issues. When I need it most, he works at projecting that sense of peace, so I can latch on to it and stay afloat. Does he understand what that means to me?
"You know, you can't run in mag boots. No matter how much you want to. The magnetic bond to the deck plate forces this slow, lumbering walk. It makes me feel like…everything is happening in slow motion. But at the same time…the sense of urgency, the desperate need to move faster…it's making me sick. My gut's all twisted up." She could feel her pulse pounding, knew the base of her throat was probably jumping for Thane to see. Steady calm kept retreating into the distance, no matter how hard she clung to her fracturing control.
She looked past Thane to a point on the bulkhead, images from the SR-1 scrolling like an old vid in her mind. "Through the hull breaches I can see escape pods firing. I count the launches as I walk, hoping each of them is full to capacity. Knowing they're not, because as I walk I've also been counting the dead.
"In the distance, I can see the enemy ship, turning to make another pass at us. I lose sight of it as I arrive in the cockpit and find Joker. He's still working the controls like a madman, trying to keep Normandy intact. It takes a few words to convince him to give up. But I get him out of that chair and moving as fast as he can manage to the bridge escape pod. It's nearby, right across from the airlock… . We're so close to being safe… ."
A rhythmic clatter distracted her. Her hands were shaking, making the mug dance on the tabletop, so she strengthened her hold. "Joker's finally in the pod, and I'm about to join him when I look over my shoulder. The other ship is close, and it…it fires another salvo as I watch. We lose all remaining power, and the force fields go down. The impact throws me away from the pod door toward an open breach."
Her eyes shifted back to Thane's, needing the focus to keep her in the here and now. Breathe. No need to panic. This is the SR-2. I'm with Thane. I'm fine. "I stretch to snag a handhold, and for a split-second I'm just hanging there, half out the ship, escape pod barely out of reach. The other ship comes back into view. Joker and I will both be space dust if we're hit again. I… ."
Sudden nausea prompted a hard swallow. "I don't have time to fight my way back to the pod. All I can do is save Joker. So I smack the launch button. The blast of the enemy beam is almost simultaneous, and some bridge equipment overloads and explodes—which sends me out the breach at speed. 'For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,' et cetera, et cetera." Thane's gaze dropped to his hands, tightening around his mug. Okay, guess he doesn't like Newtonian physics humor. Though poor timing could be the problem, too.
"Something hits me in the back, or I hit something, as I'm blown out. It doesn't take long to realize my suit's damaged…and I'm leaking oxygen."
Thane abruptly stood and strode a few steps from the table, startling her and damn near spilling her tea. His neutral, composed persona was gone. He was furious—brow ridge lowered, lips compressed to a thin line—and Shepard was pretty sure she knew why.
"Thane?" He kept pacing. So much for tranquility. Guess I jinxed him by admiring it. "Come on—hold up a second."
He turned toward her but didn't sit. Instead he leaned over his chair, balled fists on the table. Shepard shivered at the cold, intimidating predator who had replaced her charming, philosophical friend. Note to self: never piss off Thane.
"Listen to me—don't go there. Just, don't. You can't blame Joker for staying any more than you can blame me for going after him."
"Those minutes he cost you—you could have safely escaped with the others." The rasp in his voice was harsh—threatening rather than inviting. She was glad Joker wasn't in the room.
"Stop it. I mean it," she ordered. "You told me I couldn't blame myself for leaving heavy cover. That it wasn't my nature to stay safe when my team was at risk. The same applies to Joker." She watched the comments sink in. Going by his narrowed eyes, he didn't like having his own words thrown back at him. Fuckity fuck. I didn't want to make him angrier. Come on, Krios—let your logic kick in.
She tried again. "Everything in Joker demands that he protect his ship and its crew. That's who he is. We have no idea how many lives he saved by continuing evasive maneuvers and keeping Normandy together as long as he did. I have never faulted him for that, and you shouldn't either. Blaming him is a cop out anyway. He's an easy target, an easy answer—but what happened…it's not his fault. Not. His. Fault."
That'd better work, she prayed. If Thane really loses it…would he go after Joker? Hurt him?
No, he wouldn't use his skills against someone so weak, unable to defend himself.
Would he?
Please, Thane, she entreated. Don't do something you'll regret.
He bowed his head, completely still aside from his disciplined breathing. After a long moment, he looked back up. "I will…reconsider my assignment of guilt. Your points are well made."
Lungsful of stale air sighed out, leaving her almost dizzy and babbling with relief. "I had to have this exact same conversation with Garrus, you know. He spent two years mad at Joker. When he came aboard from Omega and heard Joker was piloting, he marched straight to the bridge and nearly punched the poor guy. I should have anticipated your reaction. You really are too much alike sometimes."
She certainly had a growing appreciation for just how much effort he put into self-control. It's not about privacy and neutrality or even about helping me out, she grasped. He works hard to keep something dangerous in check. As ship's captain and team leader, she knew she needed to reassess Thane—his strengths and weaknesses, and what might happen if he truly unleashed his power and abilities. But right now, she acknowledged, it's too much to deal with. Commander Shepard can put that on her to-do list. Tonight, I need my friend and confidant.
"I apologize, Shepard," he offered, chagrined. "I wished to help you find peace, if I could. Not force you to appease me."
"I understand. This is…pretty overwhelming stuff. And nobody's perfect. But if you're extra nice to me, I won't tell Garrus about this little slip." Thane reacted as she hoped, with a small smile and more relaxed posture. "Anyway, you sit back down. Please. I need to pace again. There's not enough room in here for both of us to wander around."
Once he retook his seat, she rose and began walking, back and forth from door to window.
"In a way, that blast did me a favor. It blew me clear of the ship, and I kept going, courtesy of Newton's third and first laws of motion. Otherwise, the final explosion would have ripped me into tiny bits, maybe incinerated me. I'd have gone out with a fiery bang. Instead, I watched from a distance as Normandy broke apart into big chunks and started raining down on Alchera."
She pushed herself to take deep, even breaths. "I knew…I knew I was dying. My suit was losing oxygen too fast. Even if another ship heard the SOS and responded, they wouldn't get to me in time. I knew that, and...part of me accepted it." She glanced at Thane, certain he would get that. He, more than anyone else aboard, would understand resignation in the face of death. To her surprise, he looked…unsettled by her admission. Back to being hard to read, she sighed. But that's not his neutral, calm face. Should I stop?
After another glance, he gave her a nod, and she took it as the okay to continue.
"I tried to focus on saying a mental goodbye, a final prayer, and to think of.…people I'd see again. But another part of me wouldn't stop fighting. I desperately scrabbled at my air hose, trying to reach the leak. Hoping I could repair it. Bypass it. Something. Anything."
Despite her best efforts, her heart was beating way too fast, panic clawing at her insides. "Fuck. Give me a second. I don't want EDI to freak out over my vitals and report them to Chakwas." Or for you to think I'm a basket case with no discipline. If you can reassert control after losing it in a damn epic way…then I can do it, too. "Je suis calme et maître de moi-même. Tá mé calma agus féin-rialú. Watashi wa shizukade jisei shite imasu. Je suis calme et maître de moi-même. Tá mé calma agus féin-rialú. Watashi wa shizukade jisei shite imasu." She repeated the mantra several more times, slowing her walk to the rhythm of the words as she relaxed.
"Sorry about that," she offered, embarrassed but determined to make eye contact. "This is just…just… ." The thought petered out, words evaporating.
"Any tool that helps you cope is a good thing, Shepard." She felt drawn in by his compassionate gaze. He'd restarted that deep, comforting hum, and the rhythm and tone of his words created a space where she could just…breathe. "You must have realized by now—I also have methods of imposing and maintaining control. I would never judge your own. Just as I would never judge a lapse in that control, for mine is far from perfect. As you witnessed."
The cadence, the thrum, the gravelly pitch—she just wanted to keep basking in them. They felt…familiar. Déjà vu? she wondered. How?
She shook off the questions, needing to finish now that she'd gotten so far. With a small nod of thanks she continued. "The planet was coming closer. Might sound odd to say it that way, but that's how I saw it. Then full understanding hit me…my momentum and the planet's gravity…they'd pull me into Alchera's atmosphere. And I'd fall. That idea…scared the fuck out of me. It still does." She noticed Thane's hum had taken on a slow, pulsing rhythm. Like a heartbeat. She paused and followed a sudden instinct, syncing her breathing to his tempo until she felt calmer.
"I started fighting harder, flailing wildly. I…I didn't want to be conscious when I hit atmo. That made me realize I was hoping to die faster—suffocate rather than burn. Talk about a double bind."
Thane didn't respond to her weak chuckle. Okay, strike two on death humor. Hold it together, Morgan. Almost done.
"That's…about it, really. I watched the planet get bigger, part of me horrified, struggling like hell. When my oxygen supply was completely gone…when nothing filled my lungs… ." She stopped and focused on Thane's eyes, relying on them to keep her centered. "I screamed. Except I couldn't make a sound. No air. Then things got kind of gray around the edges of my vision. Got darker. And I finally blacked out."
His steady gaze gave her the courage to whisper, "I…always stop there when I remember all this. But the next step is…I didn't just black out. I…died. I really died. And I entered atmo and fell to the surface of Alchera." For a long moment she drew on their link, reminding herself she could still breathe.
"When I…came back, when I got a chance to sit and think about it…I don't know how Cerberus did it. How there was…enough of me left…to put back together. Made me certain for a while that I must be a clone or a really good VI or AI. Until Joker and Chakwas and Garrus convinced me that I had all the memories, in-jokes, and bad habits—all the things Cerberus couldn't know to program. And I have body memories, like this damn shoulder that still acts up."
Shepard finally broke the link, wanting to avoid Thane's reaction to her next admission. "Anyway, I died…and none…none of the things I'd been taught to expect or hope for…happened. There's simply…nothing, not even any sense of time passing. I just started having flashes of being in a hospital or lab."
She returned to the table and sat, hands clutched, fingers tangled. After staring at them for a minute, she darted nervous looks at Thane. "I'm…I'm sorry if you thought…I'd have some answers for you…about crossing the sea. But I don't have any—for you or for me. Please say something."
A warm hand clasped both of hers and stopped the compulsive twisting. Her eyes jerked up and locked with his. He gently squeezed before letting go. "You owe me nothing, Shepard. Don't worry about my questions. How do you feel?"
Relieved you're not disappointed was her immediate thought. And a little stunned that you just…touched me. I mean, it felt…nice, but you never do things like that. "I…well, I'm not a puddle on the floor, which is surprising. I didn't think I'd get through it—manage to say it all out loud and admit what really happened. But memories, for humans anyway, they're just…words put to thoughts, aren't they? Artificial constructs that shouldn't have the impact they do. 'Words have power, not inherently, but because we give it to them. For better or worse.'"
She felt more tension ebb away when Thane gave her an encouraging smile and followed her lead. "Ramisa Brer'paros, batarian philosopher—and first wife to a High Overseer of the Hegemony. I find that sentiment…inadequate. I prefer the viewpoint of Sōseki Natsume."
"The Japanese novelist? Um, I'm guessing you want me to remember…'Kotoba wa kūki dake o kakitateru monode wa arimasen. Karera wa yori ōkina mono o ugokasu koto ga dekimasu.' 'Words are not meant to stir the air only: they are capable of moving greater things.'"
"Your mind is an amazing thing, Shepard," he commended. "As a related aside, I promised Dr. Chakwas I would mention something. She believes 'even Shepard's hard head needs more protection in the field.' She wishes you would wear a full helmet rather than a visor. To better safeguard that brain of yours."
She couldn't believe she was chuckling so soon after reliving hell. "Yes, I know; she's given me that lecture twice since the surgery. And now that you've fulfilled your obligation, we can forget the topic of visors versus helmets, yes?"
"Consider it forgotten." She thought he seemed…reassured? Comforted? Whichever it was, her willingness to laugh seemed to ease the lingering concern in his eyes. "Returning to our discussion, Shepard—how do you feel about…what didn't happen? About the…nothingness?"
"Back to the tough questions, huh?" She thought about shelving the topic, before recalling the beginning of her confession. No one else, if not him. "I…I'm still working on that. Sometimes I tell myself that I'm…an idiot, or worse, for believing in some kind of next world. Sometimes I try to convince myself…that the next world might still be there, but I…simply didn't get there…for some reason or other."
Her eyes again locked with his, drawing strength or courage or whatever she needed to keep going. "I don't know which feels worse. To have certainty taken away completely…or to keep clinging to a possibility, trying to find hope wherever I can." Her voice dropped to a barely audible level, but one she knew Thane would still hear. "Mostly I…I think about…people I've lost. I want an afterlife of some kind, a next world somewhere, because I want them to be there. I don't want them to be…gone. Just dust and oblivion. If they are truly gone…then the weight of my failures…all the ones I couldn't save… . How do I carry that?"
For a few seconds, his hand covered hers again. So warm, with a slightly different…texture than human skin, she noted, bemused. Is that the scales? Or maybe calluses like mine? This time as he withdrew, his fingertips trailed over her skin, like…a caress? Or at least the closest thing to one she'd felt in years.
"Your trust and honesty are humbling," Thane rumbled. "As is your strength in communicating something so difficult and personal. May I share my thoughts? I…dislike the idea of your soul in such turmoil. I wish to offer a path that may lead to some peace."
"I always appreciate your point of view, Thane." With a sudden smile, she tried to deflect a bit and lighten the mood—and stop thinking about his touch. "Except when it comes to advice about surgery recovery, of course."
"Of course." He rewarded her effort with the half-smile she liked so much. He grew more serious as he continued, "Many cultures, many religions, have a concept called 'limbo.' An in-between place of waiting. For judgment. For penance. For the next life in a cycle of reincarnation. And perhaps, for a chosen few, for the appropriate time to return, because the journey is not yet complete."
She nodded her understanding. "I'm familiar with the general concept. But not that last part of it."
"I believe, Shepard, that Kalahira knew your destiny was unfulfilled. No one is meant to cross the sea, experience the far shore, and return. So you did not encounter the next world, because it was not yet your time. Instead, you waited, in quiet darkness. And you awoke when you were ready. When you were needed. To resume your role as a bright light…—"
He closed his eyes, his voice lower and huskier as he concluded, "…in a galaxy that is far too cold and dark without you."
When his eyes opened, his bottomless gaze held that new…something she couldn't put her finger on. Whatever it was caused a ripple of sensation through her body and a flash across her vision. Green scales, black stripes, defined muscles. His shoulders? Bare shoulders?
When she responded, she wasn't entirely sure which she was addressing—his comforting words, his look, or her response. "I will…think about that, I promise."
After a pause, she continued, "Working through all this will take more time. Probably a lot of time. But…it doesn't feel as…overwhelming as it did."
"Then I am glad." The momentary intensity was gone, replaced by his usual calm neutrality. Maybe I imagined it? she wondered. But why would I imagine stripes and shoulders I've never seen? "I will always be here to listen if you wish to revisit this."
"I won't forget." Her thoughts quickly scrolled through a list of possible ways to express her gratitude. Something that would be meaningful to him. The right one was obvious as soon as it crossed her mind. "And…I want you to know, I do take my health seriously, and your concerns. I'll rethink what you said, about necessary recovery time." She couldn't help but follow that with a grin and a disclaimer. "Though I make no promises on the outcome. And the visor is still off-limits."
Thane tilted his head back and laughed—really laughed, not his dry chuckle. For just those few seconds, Shepard wished she had perfect drell memory. She knew nothing would wipe away all the nightmares…but reliving that moment would be one hell of a talisman. And damn, did she ever need one.
Notes:
"وقف هدر الوقت. " is Arabic for "Stop wasting time."
"Nos morituri te salutamus" is a famous Latin phrase: "We who are about to die salute you."
Morgan's calming mantra repeats the same phrase in French, Irish, and Japanese: "I am calm and self-controlled."
Sōseki Natsume was a Japanese novelist of the early 20th century. The quotation is from his novel Kokoru, the title of which translates as "heart" or "the heart of things."
Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you enjoyed the story or have questions/suggestions.