We sit together like old friends. I slide my arm along the back of her sofa, watch her eyes as they travel up and down my form, and wonder what she sees. Is there anything about me that she finds aesthetically pleasing? Do her eyes search my body because she finds my differences appealing or because I am merely the other, a curiosity? My heart pounds out a staccato beat that I feel she must hear, and a distant part of me curses the flustered heat that rises along my throat. "Would you dine with me?" I ask.

And she had said yes.

All of his anxiety had been for nothing—as often happened with anxiety. He had feared the awkwardness that might happen if she had declined him. It would have been difficult for him to conceal his disappointment, and she might have picked up on it, turning an already painful situation into something nearly unbearable. And there had been a moment when he thought that she might decline—she sat so still and quiet, and he found himself pouring out words for her, wishing that she could hear the humming song that lined the edges of his speech. When she had finally smiled on him, those kelp eyes so very bright, and offered sweet acquiescence, he had not been able to suppress his smile and fled her presence before she might have the opportunity to change her mind.

And now, now that he had her agreement secure and safe in his heart and he was away from her arresting gaze, he found himself… slightly disconcerted.

He had what he wanted. He would be able to pay Shepard back in some small way—he had so little to offer her before the end—and while he was serving her needs, he would also, in a roundabout way, be serving his own. For there was no denying that he, too, wished to spend an evening with her, with a friend, where work was not a topic of conversation and food and drink was offered in plenty, and there could be smiles and laughter and shared moments of comfortable silence.

But there was something… off about the whole thing. The look she had given him was one that he hadn't seen on her face before—it was an expression that he was not entirely familiar with. A pink tongue darts out to wet parted lips. Eyes are dark, deep, filled with secret swimming thoughts. Her pulse jumps underneath the pale skin of her throat, and I have to suppress the sudden wild desire to feel it quiver under my fingers, my mouth…

Her scent had been haunting, salty and hot, like a still day before a tempest. He had been embarrassed by his sudden desire to touch her, so very intimately, especially since she was his friend and commander. And she was… she was confusing, with her heavy gaze and coral lips. Thane felt almost reactionary, as if he wouldn't have dared to respond to her in such a way if she had not looked at him like that—whatever that look meant. He could not explain it, and it was frustrating to no end. Even now he felt himself shiver when he thought of her delicate scars, her bright eyes…

The lift opened to the crew deck, and Thane stepped off automatically, deep in his thoughts, threading his way past the knot of crew members that had gathered to wait in front of the lift for its arrival. A body stood in his way; he moved to the side only to be blocked by it again. Letting loose a rumble of annoyance, he raised his gaze to glare at whomever dared to impede his progress when he found himself staring in the wide, unblinking eyes of Mordin.

Thane took an automatic step back, unwilling to submit himself to an examination. "Ah… Professor…"

But Mordin closed the distance between them with a quick step, his head cocked and eyes blinking like a curious bird. "Seem distracted, Thane. Was going to ask you to come to the lab tomorrow, but quickened pulse, slightly inflated throat…" Mordin brought up his omnitool, and Thane felt his body tingle as the salarian's interface connected with his own omnitool's network. He waved an irritated hand—Thane hated that feeling; it was intrusive, invasive.

He tugged at his vest, as if he could stop the prickling from the scan by plucking it off of him. "I am fine, Doctor. I was merely... remembering."

The look Mordin gave him clearly suggested that he didn't believe Thane, and he knew that a more extensive explanation would just sound like an elaborate excuse. "Hmm. Readings suggest..." Quick eyes flicked to the elevator, and Thane had the sense that the doctor was piecing together something awful and intimate.

"Tomorrow?" Thane blurted out, hoping to snatch Mordin's eyes back to him. "I can come. What do you wish to do?"

"Must be feeling bad." Mordin favored him with a small smirk—maddening, really. "Never this easy to get you to agree. Come at 0800 hours. Will perform lung biopsy. And... perhaps discuss other things?"

"Yes, yes, whatever you wish." Anything to get Mordin to stop thinking. He stepped lightly around the doctor, desperate for the quiet solitude of his room, not bothering to excuse himself. As soon as the door closed behind him, he tore off his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair, and pulled the SMG off of the wall. His hands moved automatically, sliding out the heat sink, checking the chamber to ensure it was empty, squeezing the trigger experimentally a few times to hear the satisfying click. He sat the gun on the table and swiveled around in the chair to pull his chest out from under the bed to retrieve his tools and got quickly to work on recalibrating the sight on the SMG.

Working on the gun was a pleasant distraction. It kept his hands busy—it was delicate work, after all. But it only prevented his mind from straying for a few, brief moments, his hands taking over as his thoughts occupied themselves with far more complicated concerns.

He… well. He supposed that he must admit to himself that he had a bit of a… Well, he admired Shepard a great deal. She was clever, persuasive, kind, a brilliant leader, an inspiration to him and everyone else around her. And the differences in their species, which before he thought a barrier, now only served to endear her to him. Her slight frame, small bright eyes, strange curves and swells, curious hair—She kneels before me on the cold tile of the washroom floor, and I thread my fingers through her fiery tresses, shocked momentarily by how soft it is, how sensual it feels between my fingers, and I wish I dared leave them in, play with individual strands, plait them together like I see others of her race do, and then let it down again to see it cascade around her slender throat, a cataract of liquid garnet—were now as comfortable to him as any feature of his own species, and he knew that his acceptance of her differences had everything to do with how captivating he found her sharp mind.

His infatuation with her—because he must call it that—was something that he hoped would be short-lived. It was almost funny, if he chose to think about it that way, for he had not felt this type of attachment to someone in so long that it was almost overwhelming, heady in its intensity. He knew Rayna would laugh at him—and he deserved it. What an absurdity—to find oneself smitten with a human. He hoped that one day, if the gods saw fit to grant him a few more months than he thought he might have, he could share this temporary captivation with Shepard herself, and they could both laugh at how ridiculous it had been.

For it must be temporary. Shepard herself would never entertain the thought… no surely, she wouldn't. He was so very different from her, and she had her own heart taken by that Kaidan. Thane's affection had reached its crest now, a brief flash of intense fondness, and it would settle down into a comfortable and steady attachment. He would, always, until the end, count her as the most amiable woman of his acquaintance. But it would be no more than that.

He supposed he must owe this new influx of emotion to Shepard as well. He smiled at the thought. He would not have even been capable of the feeling before she had awoken him. It was yet another reason for the intensity of the sentiment—after not feeling anything for so long, he felt as if everything was new, exciting, almost painful in its novelty.

It reminded him of…

But no. It wasn't like that at all. Things had been different with Irikah. Irikah had eventually returned those feelings, and Thane's love for her had never waned, never eased. Shepard would not see Thane in the same light—she couldn't—and he was absolutely sure that all of this would pass soon enough.

He should actually confess this predicament to Rayna. She would laugh at him for at least an hour, tease him, make him feel the absolute irrationality of ever forming such an attachment. Perhaps he would call her later.

But until then… until this was over…

Well, he would take Shepard out to dinner. Certainly. But he felt the danger of her closeness more than ever now. She could not know, not now, what he felt, what he thought. He would have to be careful with his words and actions, lest they betray him. She disarmed him so very easily that it would be a special challenge to keep his composure around her. But he would succeed. She would not know anything unless he chose to reveal it to her after it was through.

He raised the gun, looking down through the sights, squeezing the trigger. It seemed fine. He would have to take it down to the range to test it out for certain. Perhaps he could get someone to practice with him—it was always more entertaining that way. Garrus might agree… Thane would ask him in the morning.

And now that his task was complete his stomach complained sharply, reminding him that not only did he skip breakfast and lunch that day but also he barely ate two bites of his dinner. Thane was surprised he was actually still able to function—being a biotic usually meant that, even though he had not tapped into any of that power today, skipping so many meals would result in a wide variety of unpleasantness. Still, he was not one to tease fate. He put his tools away, setting the gun gently back on the shelf, making a mental promise to his stomach that relief was coming shortly.

The mess was empty. It was a perfect time to secure a meal. He brought out his usual fruit and nuts and devoured them quickly, barely tasting them as he finished off an entire package of each. Still hungry, he decided to scatter the the sands a bit by adding something he heard one of the crew call 'yogurt' to his fare. It had a strange consistency, but it smelled fruity and an experimental taste revealed that it had a pleasant sweetness and tangy bite.

He leaned against the counter, applying himself to the yogurt with gusto when he heard a noise behind him. Half turning, he was pleasantly surprised to see that Shepard had come down from her cabin. He had not expected to see her again so soon—the creeping heat up his neck and low croon would have betrayed him to another drell. She gave him a strange little smile, opening the cupboard to pull down her usual grain. "I'm not stalking you, I swear. But I remembered something I wanted to ask you after you left. I thought I'd just ask you in the morning, but then I got the midnight munchies—sometimes I think I should just put a fridge in my quarters—and here you are!"

"Our schedules do seem to coincide." Thane slid over to allow her room to lean next to him. Her dark tank top was loose and dipped down between her shoulder blades—he found himself admiring the smooth lines of her back before tearing his eyes away to pay more attention to his yogurt.

"Is it the same way with you?" She said, crunching her grain. "Are you hungry all the time?"

"I do require more calories than most of my species, yes. But I will often take little supplements to assist with that—one cannot always stop and feed, after all. It stops me from falling over, but it does not take away the craving for food."

"Speaking of which, that's new." She nodded her head at his meal. "Branching out?"

"Yes, actually." He hummed at her, strangely pleased that she had noticed he had changed his routine. "I saw one of the engineers eating this. It is delicious. Have you had any?"

"Yogurt? Yeah. Looks like strawberry? That's my favorite."

"What is it, exactly?" He stirred it around a bit. "I can tell there is fruit, but I am not sure what makes it have this consistency."

"It's milk. Dairy." She said with a casual shrug. "We use bacteria to ferment the milk, and then you get yogurt."

And suddenly Thane was not hungry anymore.

He eyed the yogurt as if it had suddenly turned into a bowlful of her worm noodles. "Milk? As in lactation? Do you… use… I mean, whose…" Thane could not voice it; it was far too disgusting. Humans were mammals after all, and mammals produced milk, and there was the possibility that… Oh Goddess. His mind was suddenly flooded with the thought of thousands of humans milking themselves to make a deceptively delicious food.

"Not who, although some people are into that." Shepard laughed as Thane felt his stomach churn rebelliously. "What. A cow–we use cow's milk."

But learning that it was from a different mammal was hardly consoling. Secretions were secretions, after all. "That… is revolting. Why? Why do you do this?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Because it's delicious? Drell don't drink milk?"

That was the problem—the yogurt was delicious. Terribly delicious. It had no right to be that delicious and be made out of mammalian secretions. "There are some small mammals native to our planet—most of them are extinct, unfortunately—but we never… milked them. That is… repulsive."

"Well, more for me." She snatched the yogurt out of his hands and polished it off. With a mixture of nausea and fascination, he watched her lick the spoon. "Tasty!" She darted out her tongue to lick her lips, seemingly taking a special satisfaction in hearing him hiss his disapproval.

Thane tore his eyes away from her display, deciding instead to fetch a glass of water. He could feel the yogurt coating his mouth like a film. Draining the glass helped a little, but not nearly enough. Deciding to just forge ahead, he turned around to face her, leaning back against the counter. "Well. I assume that your question had nothing to do with how many calories I must consume as a biotic. What did you need from me, Shepard?"

"Oh." She sat the bowl down, focusing on him sharply. "Right. So… do you know any particulars about the mission I went on today?"

"Other than the spectacle here in the mess hall?" He gave her a small smile, rewarded by her skin flushing a light pink. "No, not really. I know that it was personal to Ms. Goto, and I know that it involved Donovan Hock. I also heard that you destroyed his gunship and decimated his personal guard—well done."

She grinned at him. "Yeah, I liked that part too. But while that was all well and good, there was… something else. I'm coming to you about it because, out of everyone here, I think you'd have the most experience with it. I wish, actually, that I had brought you along… I could have used your advice."

Thane straightened up from his languid slouch against the counter, fixing Shepard with a curious gaze. "Oh? I am happy to provide whatever counsel that I can."

Shepard pursed her lips, folding her arms under her breasts. "What made the mission personal for Kasumi was that Hock had... obtained her partner's gray box. Do you know what that is?"

Thane felt he knew where she was taking this. "Yes. They hold a person's memories... I take it her partner was... special to her?"

"Yeah." Shepard looked down at her arms, frowning a bit. "He had wanted Kasumi to destroy the box. Apparently it had some... sensitive information on it that would severely damage the Alliance's standing with the Council. Kasumi, understandably, wanted to keep it. It was all she had left of him, you know?"

"It is slightly different with my species, Shepard." Thane pushed away from the counter to fetch the kettle, filling it with water. Tea would wash the lingering milk out of his mouth. "Those memories are not hers. She loses none of herself if she were to give them up." He flipped off the tap, setting the kettle on the stove.

"But it's more complicated than that." Shepard fixed her bright little eyes on him. "You say they're not her memories, but her memories will fade over time. They will disappear. Details will become fuzzier until you don't remember really if eyes were blue or green or perhaps they were brown? You link memories to identity, so in the face of that, isn't keeping the gray box a good thing? To preserve identity?"

"How much have you changed due to time alone, Shepard?" He took a step toward her. "I think you, also, over simplify. Do you think that because something happens in your youth it will not still define you as an adult even though elements of those memories fade? Or do you make the argument that character is transitory? That it changes as your memories become less sharp? I would argue that sharpness of a memory does not define who lives in your mind and heart. It does not matter if someone's eyes were blue or green. The impression, the lesson that he or she leaves behind does."

Her eyebrows knitted together. "How would you know? Aren't your memories always the same?"

He trilled softly, fixing his eyes on her. "My ability to recall small details does not affect my impression of a person. I could close my eyes and describe every centimeter of your armor, down to the last scratch, the smallest dent. But does that knowledge of something so external help me define who you are?"

But Shepard frowned at him, and he wondered what he had done to inspire such an expression. "And what if they entirely disappear? The memories? The impressions, the details, all gone. Doesn't that change who you are? Wouldn't you give up anything and everything to get it back? Would you even know that you had lost them in the first place?"

Thane cocked his head at her, a low hum vibrating his chest. He had the sense that they were no longer talking about Kasumi, but he was not quite sure how to respond to her unspoken request. He was not even sure what that request might be.

But she spared him any awkward questioning by shaking her head, giving him a tense little smile. "Regardless of our little debate here, I told her she could keep it. I didn't feel right destroying something that obviously meant so much to her."

Thane felt a bit better to be back on steadier ground, but a rumbling disappointment at her retreat still colored his words. "What of the Alliance? I was under the impression that you were still loyal to them."

"I am." The kettle began to whistle, and Shepard moved past him to take if off the heat. "Destroying the gray box, of course, is the only way to be absolutely certain that the information will never get out. But at the time, I felt... there are some things more important than politics. Favor comes and goes." Thane retrieved the mugs from the cupboard and dropped a tea bag in each. "Of course," she continued. "Now that the decision isn't right in front of me I have time to reconsider, to think about how I would have done things differently." Her hand tightened a bit on the handle of the kettle, knuckles whitening. "She flipped it right on, Thane. Didn't say a word the entire trip home. Just sat there. Smiling. I felt like... like I had given her the worst kind of addiction."

Her voice grew a bit quieter, and Thane found himself stepping closer to her to hear. "I remembered what you said about getting lost in memories. And I wondered if I had made a mistake."

Thane reached out without thinking, covering her hand with his, pulling it gently off the kettle. "You did what you thought would be best for her."

She looked down at their hands, then cast her kelp eyes up to him. He suddenly felt far too close to her—her warmth was... distracting. "Is it, though?"

Thane took back his hand, filling up their mugs with hot water. "Sometimes we do not know right away. Sometimes we just have to see. I can talk to her. I do not know her very well—it will be an awkward subject to broach—but I can offer my advice and see if she will take it."

"What advice will you give her?" She took the mug and cradled it in slender hands.

"The same that any drell would offer—memories are like... hmm. The cultural reference I am about to make will probably make little sense to you." At her curious smile and quick little eyes, he elaborated. "I was going to say that memories are like the sweet songs of Dalya—she calls you out into the sands with her haunting melodies, and you give yourself into the pleasure, not knowing that all the while you are wasting away in the desert sun. It is one thing to let yourself listen to a few notes and move on; it is another to give yourself over entirely."

"Dalya." Her pronunciation was halting and endearing. "Is she another goddess?"

"No. She has her own story, though. I can tell you one day, if you like."

Her smile was small, secretive. "I want us to sit down one day and just share our stories. But aren't there two ways to look at Dalya, though? On one hand, she's terrible, luring people to their deaths. But on the other hand, she's like Keats' La Belle Dame sans Merci—giving you the ultimate pleasure before you die. Do you think she regrets what she does? And which is better? A life of mediocrity or a brief, shining existence engaged in the utmost happiness?"

Thane trilled his delight. He could talk to Shepard for hours on end, and she would never bore him. "I cannot say I have read that poem, although I have heard of your Keats. And I think the answer would have to depend on the purpose of that life—one can lead a happy life in the service of others, however short it might be. This is a life with purpose. The life that is lived solely with Dalya and your beautiful, pitiless lady is one bereft of purpose. And without purpose, without direction, can there be any true pleasure? Or is it a form of disguised despair? I would argue that the former life is better."

"I think I'd have to agree." She grinned at him and straightened up. "Thanks for the tea and the offer to talk to Kasumi. Give her a few days, okay? Let's see where she goes with this and evaluate it from there."

Thane gave her a small bow. "As you wish, Commander."

She moved past him. "Gardner's going to be mad when he finds out I've taken the cup up with me." She smiled at him impishly. "See you in the morning, Thane."

"Good night, Shepard." He followed her with his eyes for as long as he could before turning back to the sink to put away the kettle, retiring himself shortly after.

Thane was not looking forward to his appointment with Mordin. He dreaded it as much as he had the Master's daily inspections—during which something would be wrong, and Thane would end up feeling the effects of that particular punishment for hours afterward.

He hated lung biopsies.

They were awful. Firstly, they hurt. No matter the anesthetic that a doctor would use, jamming a sharp instrument into a lung was going to be painful. He was always sore for at least half a day.

Secondly, bad news always accompanied them. There was always that sympathetic shake of the head and a false cheer that sickened him. "Oh, they've cleared up a bit slightly" or "Well, it's not spreading as fast as we thought it might." He was dying. He knew this. Why did they have to make it even worse than it already was?

So he woke up (without the alarm this time), and spent his morning in light exercise, for he knew it would be difficult to get anything like that done after the biopsy was through. Thus, when the dreaded hour finally came around, he felt relatively loose and relaxed, and even though he wished he did not have his memory and could conveniently forget that he had an appointment, he submitted to the event with minimal fuss.

Mordin glanced up as Thane walked through the door. "Ah, Thane. Take off your..."

"Jacket and vest, yes." Thane said, already unzipping the vest, draping it across a back of a chair along with his coat. He hopped up to the examination table, feeling himself shiver slightly in the cool air.

"EDI, raise the temperature in the room by 10 degrees." Thane murmured his thanks at Mordin's thoughtful request, already feeling some of the chill leave the air. "Right side first."

And so Thane lifted his arm up, reaching behind his head to grasp the wrist, exposing his side for the wicked-looking needle that Mordin wielded. His muscles twitched underneath his scales in anticipation, and after a quick swab of disinfectant, Mordin stabbed the needle in without ceremony, earning a stifled grunt from Thane.

He drew it out with agonizing slowness and set it aside to dress the wound and grab another, clean tool for the other side.

"And again."

Thane repeated his actions for his left side, and thankfully in a few moments it was done and he slid back off of the table, heading directly for his clothes to make as quick an exit as possible.

"Will run tests on the tissue samples and send you the results by tomorrow." Mordin said, placing the little bits of Thane he had ripped away into clear, tiny vials. "Also..."

Thane tugged his jacket into place, smoothing it down. "Yes?"

Mordin took a few steps toward Thane, quick eyes darting up and down. "Mission is stressful; different species react differently to stress. Seeking sexual relief is hardly uncommon, but recommend caution."

Thane jerked up his gaze to stare at Mordin with wide eyes. That was... not the direction Thane thought the conversation would go in. "I... beg your pardon?"

Mordin carried on as if what he was suggesting was not the most bizarre thing in the universe. "Am aware of your developing relationship with Shepard. Drell-human relations complex. Shepard complex as well."

Oh. Oh my.

Mordin was... Mordin was going to try to give him a sex talk. About Shepard. Him and Shepard. Thane felt the heat march up his throat, mind scrambling for any and all excuses, explanations, distractions... "I... think you are mistaken, Professor, there is no..."

Maybe Thane could distract Mordin with something shiny. Salarians were easily thrown off track. Or maybe Thane could distract Mordin with something shiny and embedded in his skull. That also tended to derail conversations.

"Am not blind." That smirk again. "At the lift. Increased heart rate. Inflated throat. Detected unusual amount of pheromones that indicated moderate levels of arousal."

A particularly creative string of drell curses tore through his head. The gods were just mocking him now, surely. "You assume that I had come from Shepard's cabin." It was the best retort he could come up with... and it sounded petulant and ridiculous even to him.

"Oh? Perhaps you had come from CIC? Perhaps Ms. Chambers center of your affections?" He took a deep breath. "Or Taylor?" Oh, so Mordin thought this was funny. Yes, it was hilarious.

Thane opened his mouth to say something sharp and snappish back only to shut it again, aware of how useless it would be. Mordin folded his arms loosely across his chest, radiating a comfortable sense of victory. Thane felt the irrational desire to punch the smug smile off of Mordin's face. "If done with transparent attempts at lying, will proceed to heart of the matter. Humans react to drell contact in unusual ways. Skin contact may cause mild rash, itching. Creams can alleviate discomfort. Oral contact may cause mild hallucinations."

Thane blinked. That was... actually kind of interesting. "Hallucinations?"

"Chemicals in drell saliva react interestingly with human brain function. But effects are temporary—longest recorded incident of hallucination six hours, but that was with quite a high dosage. Average is one and a half hours. Shepard's reconstructed form combined with her biotic metabolism may actually allow her to process chemicals faster—would like to study effects later on."

And Thane's interest waned when he began thinking of Mordin studying any future... encounters. "Ah."

The salarian forged ahead, enjoying himself immensely if his quick, darting movements were any indication. "Obvious differences in human female bodies—will forward you videos, diagrams, other light reading on erogenous zones and favored ways of pleasuring females. Can provide clarification later on if needed—or in some cases, a simple extranet search will elaborate. Will offer similar advice to Shepard. Now. Questions?"

Thane could only stare at Mordin in wide-eyed wonder, equally horrified and curious. Videos? Diagrams? It was honestly more than he ever wanted to know about the human body—his knowledge extended as far as the necessary points of interest, such as how easy it was to snap their necks or break their spines.

He imagined how Shepard would react to such a discussion and wished his disease would just take him then and there. Oh, it might not be that bad—perhaps she would laugh at Mordin, perhaps it would seem as ridiculous to her as it did to him... Or maybe she would find the very thought repulsive, and she would never be able to look at him again without wanting to heave. Or she would no longer be comfortable with Thane on the mission and find some excuse to relieve him of his duty... Ah, the possibilities were endlessly horrifying.

"Patient confidentiality, of course, of utmost importance. Will not share anything said." Mordin assured him as if he actually thought it would help.

Thane wished he could say that his mind was blank, but instead it was filled with premonitions of doom, wherein he would be the first drell to officially die of embarrassment when Shepard inevitably got wind of this. Also, he actually did honestly wonder about breasts—many human (and asari) females displayed them so prominently, and he understood them to be a point of pride, but he did not quite understand why. They were just fat deposits that occasionally produced milk. What was so interesting about that? He was not curious enough to actually ask, though, instead favoring his burning desire to exit the laboratory as quickly as possible. "I... do not have any questions."

Mordin waved his hands dismissively. "Very well. Will always be here in case something occurs later on. Perhaps after viewing videos?"

Thane let loose a little agonized rumble, feeling as if he couldn't be any more embarrassed at that particular moment. He was painfully reminded of his first, humiliating discussion as an adolescent—he had been yanked from daily duties, sent to his room with a text on sexuality and told to meditate on it for a week. He thought that had been embarrassing. But, unsurprisingly, having a salarian doctor lecture him on human sexuality for a partner that Thane didn't even have was even more mortifying. "Thank you for the... ah... information. Is there anything else?"

"Now? No. Will send message regarding follow up appointment. Pleasant day, Thane."

And with that Thane was clearly dismissed, the salarian going back to whatever experiment he had been running before, and Thane stood awkwardly there for a moment, still quite bewildered from the last fifteen minutes of his life, before turning around and slinking out of the lab as if he had done something terribly, terribly wrong.

He envied other species' ability to forget.

Instead this would stay with him, one of the most humiliating moments of his life, and it would probably be the last image to flutter through his mind as he drew his final breath. The gods, he was sure, would find that hilarious.

The lift ride down was a haze, and before Thane knew it he was back in his room, content to stay there the rest of the day and come to terms with everything that just happened. He pulled a random weapon off the wall and slid into his chair, methodically taking it to pieces on his table.

Everything was happening too fast.

He had just admitted last night that he found himself in the middle of a small infatuation with Shepard, and now Mordin and his unnatural skills at observation had uncovered that with embarrassing ease. Honestly, the salarian had made much more of it than necessary. It was one thing to feel an attachment to someone; it was quite another to act upon it. Thane had no intentions of acting upon it. He had, as he concluded last night, every intention of letting it pass silently and quickly into a steady, committed friendship.

But Mordin had shaken that a bit with his... advice. He had acted like there was the possibility that Shepard might actually agree to such a liaison. Perhaps he did not know of the existence of Kaidan. But it seemed that Mordin would have acquainted himself with that information—there was no keeping secrets from the doctor, apparently.

It raised the interesting possibility that Shepard might...

But no. That was simply out of the question. He would not even consider it. It simply invited unwarranted desires, and the prudent thing was to simply put it out of his...

His omnitool shimmered to life, cheerfully notifying him that Mordin had sent a message with several attachments.

Thane stared at the display for a few moments. There was really no need to open it. He had no need for the information that Mordin sent. Opening it would just create unnecessary memories—memories that would clutter his mind and in all probability intrude at inopportune moments.

But he was curious.

And there was nothing wrong, really, with being curious. It was not as if by opening the message he was committing any sort of sin. He wouldn't even really be acknowledging that he wanted that information for... certain events. It was just... curiosity.

Also, it would be rude to not open it. Mordin had obviously taken the time to compile the information. The very least Thane could do was open the message and reply with a sincere thanks and regret that he could not use the information right now but that he was certainly grateful.

Thane opened the message, feeling as if he was definitely doing the friendly, polite thing here. The message was short and to the point. "Here is what we talked about. Enjoy. Come to me with questions."

There were... pamphlets. Diagrams. A video called How to Bring a Human Female to Orgasm – with Real Humans!

...Interesting.

Thane forgot his embarrassment in his curiosity and decided to open up one of the pamphlets first. "A Drell's Guide to the Human Female" it was called. With pictures, it claimed. The cover was of a smiling couple—the drell looking entirely too cheerful for the ridiculous publication he was in and the human gazing adoringly up at her partner, a simpering look on her face that was entirely unattractive. A quick perusal revealed a trite narrative about how "we are all the same on the inside" and he closed it quickly.

A diagram was opened to reveal a sort of... road map to human genitalia. There were lots of... folds. And hair? That was... unexpected. He should have expected it, he supposed, but it was still... strange. He wondered if it was as soft as the hair on her head... Things seemed to work relatively the same, though. Ah, and the diagram professed that. A short learning curve, it promised.

A few more pamphlets were as boring as the first one, and the other diagrams were complicated drawings of strange things like nipples. All in all it was rather... pedestrian.

And then... well, he had looked at everything else. He may as well open the video. It was not as if he would seem any less weird if he tried explaining himself with "I only read the pamphlets and studied the incredibly graphic diagrams. I did not watch the video though!" No, if this eventually came around and became a new moment of horror in his life, then he may as well have watched the video too. He pressed play.

The volume on the video was terrifyingly loud.

A series of breathy moans sounded through his room, and Thane nearly tore his omnitool off and threw it against the wall—anything to shut it off—before he got a hold of himself and lowered the volume to a bare whisper.

The girl was... being attended to by a drell—quite enthusiastically, actually. Thane cocked his head to one side, intensely curious. Ah, so that's what one was supposed to do with breasts. She seemed to really enjoy it. And it seemed as if human necks were nearly as sensitive as those on a drell... and then... oh... so human females liked that too?

He was well over ten minutes into the video before he realized exactly what he was doing.

He was watching pornography. Human and drell pornography. In his room. Alone.

Oh Goddess help him. He waved the video off, suddenly acutely aware of how weird he was really being. Shepard was his friend. Nothing more. He would never do... those things to her. It was simply out of the question. And to... watch this... well. It was more than a little strange. If he had suddenly walked in on himself he couldn't have felt more uncomfortable with the situation.

Yes, he found her quite pretty. Yes, he liked her a great deal. But those two things did not mean... what Mordin seemed to think it did.

If they were to be friends, then he would better spend his time actually being useful to her, not watching pornography in his room.

But he did not quite feel up to leaving his room—there was the possibility (however slight) that he might meet Mordin, or worse, Shepard in the halls, and he wished to avoid that very much at the moment. And, unfortunately, any seriously productive things to do lay outside of his room. So he sat in his chair, feeling awkward in his own skin, his mind conveniently going back to the video every time he didn't strictly discipline it to do otherwise. His sides ached distantly, reminding him that the day, on the whole, had been utterly disappointing. He brought up the extranet, deciding to browse the news to take his mind off of how miserable he felt at the moment.

The articles were mostly boring, bland expositions on entertainment news or various sporting events. The few decently written articles were buried under piles of ridiculous stories, and even those seemed to have an unfair slant. He hummed his distaste at the review for the latest Blasto movie, when tucked under that was a link to a story on Shepard.

He clicked it immediately, eager to find out what had been said about her. It was an interview by a Ms. Al-Jilani, and Thane watched the entirety of it, entranced by Shepard's deft maneuvering in the face of an obvious baiting by the reporter. Shepard's voice was clear, honest, strong in its convictions, her kelp eyes shining bright with intelligence. He was smiling by the end of it, feeling the thrill of her victory as surely as if he had stood at her side.

The video mentioned a previous interview, and without delay Thane began typing in a search for that, beginning with her name... But the search engine suggested something else when he typed it in—'shepherd.'

He was not an expert on how she spelled her name, to be sure. He did not even know exactly which human language she spoke—it was all translated for him into drell anyway. He was only typing in what he had memorized, but perhaps humans varied in how they spelled their names. Or maybe this was a new word entirely? Or it might be that different spellings held different connotations for the same meaning? Regardless, he was curious what this variation meant, and he looked it up. A protector, the dictionary said. A guard or guide to a person or group of people.

A protector.

Shepard was a protector in name as well as in deeds. It was... strangely beautiful. Like a...

Like a warrior angel of Arashu.

A siha. Shepard. He felt himself tremble a bit with the realization of it. It was strange. Beautiful. Perfect.

How had he not seen it? She had saved him, awoken him. And she did not concern herself only with him—she moved to protect the entire galaxy, an avatar of Arashu, avenging Her people, protecting Her children. Her wrath was fierce, but she also stood as a shield, a defender of light.

Shepard, with her scent of sea spray, her kelp eyes, pale sand skin, and blood strand hair, was not death, no. Far from it. He had been a fool to think otherwise. All she had done and all she would yet do was an example of her unwavering attention to the sanctity of life and the importance of both justice and mercy. He understood now why he had been so drawn to her, why he felt such affection and passion for her. She was the embodiment of the Goddess, and she deserved nothing less than complete devotion from him.

Yet, she was still mortal. She could still falter. She could still stumble. Sihas were not infallible.

Thus, he knew now that he would remain with her, even after this mission was through—if the gods saw fit to grant that time. He would ensure her path remained straight and true. He would help her adhere to both her ideals and the greater forms of justice and mercy that sprang from the divine. Together, they would preserve the light in the galaxy.

Few were fortunate enough to have one siha bless their lives. Arashu had given him grace beyond measure by granting him two. It was... overwhelming. He stood up from his desk in one swift movement to kneel in the center of his room, hands tracing the familiar patterns out on the floor, throat swelling to sing Her first notes. He felt Her, so warm on his skin, and he knew he was unworthy, knew he did not deserve such beneficence.

His siha. He would follow her until his end.

A/N: So, you may have noticed that I've not been as quick as I used to be in writing/posting chapters. This is due to the fact that the semester has started again, and I have a million papers to grade. Unfortunately, it'll be this way until the end of the semester, so sorry! I do try to get them out as fast as possible, but even though I'd rather write, work has to come first.

I am VERY excited about the next chapter, though, in which we will finally get to see the date from Thane's POV! I have some new scenes for you that I think are really lovely.

And, as always, thanks to my beta, who is just as busy as I am. She made the science-y bits in this chapter actually make sense! :D