"More than friends."

The first image that popped in her mind when she woke up in the morning was that of Thane considering her so-called 'proposition'. She let out a groan and ground the heels of her palms into her eyes. Shepard would never drink again—she swore to whatever deity currently happened to be listening (one she hoped wouldn't be too vengeful when she inevitably broke her solemn vow).

Yet, as she puttered around her room—making the bed, shedding her sleepwear and tossing it down the laundry chute—she couldn't stop thinking about... him.

While Mordin had warned her about the psychotropic effect of drell... bodily fluids... she felt that Thane's eyes deserved more of a warning label than anything. She recalled that at first she had found the pressure of his gaze to be oppressive and intrusive, but now... she sought it out, welcomed it, and mourned it when it was gone. Once she had found them frightening in their darkness, but perhaps now that she could interpret his minute facial expressions—a subtle raise of an eye ridge, a set of eyelids a fraction lower than usual, a careful blink that said more than an entire monologue—she looked to those eyes for comfort and reassurance.

In the shower, her thoughts kept straying to the roughness of his fingers on her skin. Was his skin naturally rougher? Or was the texture due to callouses formed by handling so many weapons over the years? They were always cooler than she thought they would be, and during missions where the conditions were particularly stifling, she had more than once entertained the thought of simply draping her too hot bare body across him, letting the heat from her skin seep over to him—for his part, he could be like a lizard on a hot rock. It would be a mutually beneficial situation, but she doubted any of her reptilian squadmates wanted a sweaty human rolling all over them.

But last night... those hands had not been cool. She found herself mimicking his small gesture, and she jerked her hand down, clenching her fist tight enough to leave small crescent moons on her palm. She shut the water off, moving through the rest of her routine in quick, jerky movements. It was time to stop daydreaming. Time to get to work.

She grabbed a piece of toast from the mess hall—she had never been one for a big breakfast—and gulped down a cup of lukewarm tea, hastily chewing while leaning against the kitchen counter. The other crew members ate a more leisurely breakfast, but Shepard didn't want to waste time chitchatting, especially since she knew at least one smartass would ask her about last night. She had her money on Garrus, who kept sneaking devious looks over at her.

She was so concerned with shoving as much toast into her mouth as humanly possible and keeping two very dangerous eyes on Garrus that she was completely unaware when Thane sidled up to her. "Good morning."

And of course the toast went down the wrong pipe and instead of being cool or suave or at least normal she spent the next few minutes choking to death on a piece of bread.

She barely registered Thane's steadying hand on her upper arm, but she did feel him smack her on the back. Drell didn't know their own strength, it seemed.

Shepard tore herself away from him and leaned over the counter, wheezing most attractively. Thane grabbed her discarded cup and filled it with water, handing it to her wordlessly.

She emptied the mug, finally catching her breath and turned around to see the crew staring at her like she was a strange new species of insect. "Fine. I'm fine." She coughed once more and tried to kill Garrus with a glare—he was far too amused by the situation, although he had the brains to stifle his laughter.

"Yeah, nothing to see here." He finally took pity on her and turned to the rest of the crew. "Like you've never crammed too much food in your mouth before?"

Shepard shook her head and leaned against the counter, folding her arms across her chest. She glanced over at Thane, whose raised eye ridge spoke volumes. "So, thanks for saving me from my toasty nemesis, but honestly, I wouldn't have even had the problem if you would make the slightest noise while you walk. Do I need to put a bell around your neck?"

Thane gracefully ignored her last comment. "You are welcome."

She sniffed, frowning at him. "I think you actually enjoy scaring the bejesus out of me."

His eyes grew wide—oh so innocent. "Enjoy it?" He pressed a sincere hand over his heart. "I have no idea what you mean." He leaned in toward her, and Shepard was both terrified and delighted by how close he was. "I am serious—I have no idea what 'bejesus' means."

She scoffed at him, and he pulled back with a smirk. "Look it up in a dictionary, Mr. 'Seeha'." Shepard was amazed at her own audacity for bringing up last night first.

"It's 'siha'," he corrected. "And that is fair enough."

Shepard turned to face him completely. "So, still not going to tell me what it means?"

"Someday." He took a special delight in being cryptic, that much was obvious.

"Yeah, I heard that when you said it the first time." She worried at her bottom lip, and could feel Thane's gaze drawn there. "Listen, about last night..." His eyes on her lips made things low inside her clench.

"Yes?" He prompted when she trailed off.

"Commander, there you are!"

Both Thane and Shepard started at the yeoman's voice, and Shepard didn't know if she wanted to murder Kelly for the interruption or kiss her. "Good morning Kelly. Have more paperwork for me to do?"

Kelly's grin was too wide when she looked at the two of them, but Shepard's glare toned down its wattage a bit. "Not this time, Shepard. You do have a few people who want to speak to you though." She brought up her omnitool. "Let's see..." She ran through a lengthy list, and Shepard felt herself mentally tallying all the time that it would take to see all of those people.

She thanked Kelly for the schedule update, and the yeoman gave her an apologetic smile and left. Thane had prepped himself a cup of tea during Kelly's monologue, and Shepard watched as he tugged delicately on the string of his tea bag while it steeped. "Looks like I have my work cut out for me today."

"Indeed."

She had to continue their previous conversation, but she didn't want to have to rush through it. It would have to wait until she had more time. "When are you free next?" Shepard realized it was the first time she had ever made plans with him, and it felt a little weird.

Thane gave her a small smile. "I would have to check my schedule—it is so full." His smile widened a bit at her knitted eyebrows. He was such a damned comedian. "I am yours whenever you require me, Shepard."

She made a special effort to not think on the words he had chosen. "Right, then. I'll see you later tonight, perhaps."

Thane inclined his head. "I look forward to it."

She didn't see him again for the rest of the day. Normally it wouldn't bother her—she'd gone days without seeing him before, but now it made her anxious. She thought of their inevitable conversation, and was troubled by the different shades of confusion, embarrassment and budding regret that roiled in her mind. It wasn't fair to lead him on when she had no intention of being in any sort of relationship, but a small part of her dreaded correcting him. It was more than the simple social awkwardness that made her shy away from their future discussion, it was the end that it represented—an end to something that had barely begun.

For, truthfully, she was curious about Thane. She wondered what sort of man he would be as more than just her friend, more than just a squad mate. But, she chalked it up to girlish fancy—Thane obviously liked her enough to not reject her outright, and it was natural for a girl's thoughts to leap to the possibilities of such a liaison.

It was past dinner when she finally finished her tasks for the day, and she grabbed an apple from the mess hall, not wanting to dirty the kitchen for one person. "EDI, can you locate Thane for me, please?"

"Sere Krios is in the armory, Commander."

"Thanks." She would not think about Thane polishing his rifle.

"Logging you out, Shepard."

She wrestled with the problem of Jacob—if he were there it would make an already awkward situation even more unbearable—but when the door to the armory opened for her, only Thane was present. His back was to her, but Shepard could see that his rifle was disassembled, and he hummed a strange melody to himself while he cleaned the inside of the barrel.

She hadn't even took a step inside when he raised one hand in greeting. "How was your day, siha?"

"Busy." She walked over to stand next to him, letting his apparent nickname for her slide. "How did you know it was me?"

Thane glanced over at her. "Your scent."

Shepard really wanted to ask him what she smelled like, but that was far too odd a question to voice. Instead she gave an intelligent 'oh', hoped she didn't smell like ass, and moved on. "So, anyway, I wanted to talk to you about last night." Straight to the point. She was proud of herself.

"Ah, yes." She knew he hadn't forgotten, but appreciated the social nicety. Thane grabbed a towel and started rubbing the grease off of his hands, turning to face her. "What is it you wanted to say?"

"I may have given you the... wrong impression." His hands were far safer to look at than his eyes, and she busied herself with how he rubbed the cloth along each finger.

"Oh?" He sat the towel aside, and she made the mistake of looking up at his face.

Her resolve faltered when she met those dark eyes with her own. "I... Well... I said that... and I meant..." He cocked his head at her and looked confused. She didn't blame him. "Sorry, I'm usually far more coherent than this." She rotated the apple around in her hands, thankful to have something to fidget with.

"Whatever you have to say, know that I will support you in any decision you make." Her heart beat frantically as she wondered if he already knew the words she had been preparing all day but was utterly failing to get out.

She felt a sudden wave of guilt wash over her—why was she even doing this? All of her carefully prepared justifications and excuses seemed to crumble when faced with his soft words. He could not defeat merely with weapons—his language was just as deadly as any other part of him.

She was gripping the fruit so hard that it bruised, and Thane closed what little distance there was between them to take it from her, setting it aside on the table. "You have eaten little today. That is not enough."

Shepard supposed she should be annoyed that he was keeping tabs on her diet, but all she could feel was overwhelming gratitude—her chest tightened with the thought of someone caring for her so much that he would bother himself with how much food she ate. It was a novelty—to be fussed over, to be looked after. It was a relief to be with someone who knew she wasn't invincible, and treated her accordingly.

"Thane..." She wanted to thank him, to put these thoughts into actual words, but her hands drifted up to the crimson ribbing along his throat—perhaps a prelude to a hug—but whatever intent she had vanished when her fingers brushed lightly along the thin folds, and Thane let out a soft sigh, his throat vibrating under her touch.

His hands—still smelling of gun grease—caught hers. The distance between them could be gone with a deep breath, and one word left his lips like a prayer, "Siha."

One of his hands left hers, and finally did what she had wanted him to do since last night—he cradled his hand against her cheek, rubbing his thumb on the edge of her lips. She wanted to take his thumb in her mouth; she wanted to press herself against him; she wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and find out once and for all if he tasted like cloves and cedar as well.

Those dark green eyes of his were hooded, staring at her with an expression she had not yet seen him wear. It made her stomach flutter in response; she found herself trembling in anticipation of what he might do next. His mouth parted slightly, and he leaned over her, his breath warming her lips, and she tilted her head up to him automatically—drawn to him like a flower to the sun.

She realized with a jolt that he was about to kiss her.

Even more startling was the realization that she wanted him to kiss her.

She wrenched herself from him, stumbling back a few steps. Thane's eyes widened in shock, and Shepard thought she saw something hurt flicker across his face.

"I'm sorry—I have to go." He reached toward her, saying her name in such a way that it made her want to turn back. But, before she knew it she was out of the armory, fleeing to her cabin like death was on her heels.

A/N: This chapter is for C., for it would not have been written if not for her comment! I have in mind, for this chapter and the next, Sir Thomas Wyatt's poem "Whoso List to Hunt":

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

Just thought you'd like to read it too! It's lovely.