Author's Note: Hey, gang! I really appreciate the kind words - thanks for taking the time. Hope you enjoy this new chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

CHPT03:_ASTOUND

And then Thane came. And every observation changed.

You always, always speak to me after recruiting new people.

Mordin's intelligence impresses you. Jack's attitude originally rattled you, but you adore her fire, her will. Kasumi makes you feel uneasy, like she's stealing all your secrets before you even know they're gone. Grunt's… Grunt. There's still other dossiers we're yet to go through too, and I wonder what you'll feel about the Justicar and the veteran.

But Thane… Thane is different.

You ordered me to rest after Horizon, so I wasn't there for that mission. Joker told me when you'd returned, but you took your time to come to the main battery, to speak to me about the new recruit, the assassin, the drell, Thane. You were probably helping him settle in, because although the galaxy finally drained your optimism, it didn't take your thoughtfulness, your kindness.

Thane has done something no one else has: he's surprised you.

You sip your drink, saying, "He prayed for himself after the kill."

What kind of assassin does that?

The line between good and bad blurs the longer this galaxy spins. You know that, I know that. At what point can you forget what Mordin did with the STG, in favour of the vulnerable lives he saved as a doctor? When is Jack's justice for the horrors she was subjected to enough? I don't even wanna know what Miranda and Jacob might've done for Cerberus.

But Thane is a good man. I don't need to tell you that, you're a good judge of character.

We're in the port observation deck, alone. You add, "He's great in a fight. Strong, focused. Definitely a solid pick."

"Yeah. Yeah, real good. Knows his way around a gun, I'm sure – but I'm still the better shot."

Your smile pushes me deeper underwater. The surface still breaks within my grasp, with the star's red light refracting beneath the waves. The way you shove me with undiminished camaraderie has me choke on my subvocals and my drink with a laugh. I stand and head back to the bar to refill my glass – you didn't want a top up.

There's more you want to say. It comes out short, clipped, unsure of how to soften it, "His wife was murdered, and he's lost contact with his only son."

Thane is wounded in a way I never was.

Carrying his grief and pain with him, like his ankles are chained. And I feel for him, I do – and I know you do too – but that's what happens in the shadows of the galaxy. It breeds cowards and steals mothers. Sidonises and Irikahs. I… I should call Mom soon. I haven't even told you she's unwell.

Maybe that's what caught your eye. Something broken to fix. Because you just keep talking about him.

I'm not even looking at you and I can hear the sadness in your voice, "He is sick, too. Very sick."

With my glass refilled, I stare into the liquid quietly. Something broken to fix, someone to help raise up, like you helped raise me up. Like I failed to raise up Grundan Krul and Melenis and Ripper and –

My eyes squeeze shut, so I don't see their names along the visor's rim. You don't know their names. You don't know because I won't tell you what ruined me. Not yet. After all, I'm still on my way back to you, after you aimed for my heart and aimed for my brain.

After a sip, I sigh, "I remember Kaidan's migraines. I can't imagine being in that kind of pain all the time. The tablets never helped, not once – only the injections did. Is there something similar we can do for Thane? No one should suffer."

"It's terminal. Kepral's Syndrome. A year left at most."

And when I do turn to look at you, I can see the sadness on your face, sinking the stars on your skin.

"My Dad died of cancer when I was four, or five. I can't remember what kind." You adjust yourself on the sofa, so that your legs are tucked under your body, and stare at the emptiness in front of you. "It ruined my Mother. She was never the same after that, right up to the day of the batarian raid. I wonder what his son would think, if he knew his Father was so sick."

Mom. I should – I have to call Mom soon. I have to tell you soon.

"I have to keep him away from humid environments, otherwise it'll progress faster. His lungs… He said it gets harder and harder to breathe."

"We should keep extra oxygen supplies for him. Some small and portable ones."

"I thought of that too, in case he needs some help during missions." Your expression brightens a bit when you look at me. "See, this is why we work so well together."

And we do work so well together. We do. We do.

But the way you talk about Thane… The way you look at him.

Humans don't have subvocals, but you don't need them anyway.

Thane saves you when I couldn't.

This mission needed two snipers. Two snipers, and I completely missed when you were nearly killed again.

But Thane saw. Thane sees more than expected.

He sees the red dot blending against your fiery hair. He traces it back and takes out the marksman, and he doesn't miss the way my head snaps to the falling body. I'm pretty sure he sees my astonishment at failing to notice the enemy, the relief scrambling across my face. The way my mandibles clench and the rage when I realise you nearly got hit in the brain, so you couldn't be saved.

The doors to the CIC open. After a breath of filtered air, you bounce ahead to report to the Illusive Man. Thane starts to move, but I catch his forearm, and he waits.

"Thank you," I say, hoping it comes across as earnest. "For saving her."

"No thanks necessary," he replies, bowing his head slightly. "She is the heart of this crew. Without her, the mission would collapse, and we would all drift back into the sea. She must survive, no matter the cost." He pauses, then speaks again, "I would be… aggrieved without her presence."

Same here; but I'm not the one that ocean blues track across the floor.

The main battery has become my sanctuary. My calm in a storm that keeps raging around us. And only one person ever seeks to disturb me here. Only one person pulls me under.

The doors hiss closed behind you, "I need to talk to you."

Need. Part of me wonders if it's true.

"And if you say anything about calibrations…"

"Well, I was just doing them." You roll your eyes and exhale harshly through your nose in response. My sky blue ones dart to the door, wondering if anyone's listening – I'm still not sure about the Cerberus operatives. Sighing, I turn away from the console and sit on a nearby crate. "What's on your mind?"

"You know you're the squadmate I trust the most, right?" You start, pausing when I nod. "When I have these talks with you… I only have them with you, because you listen. I don't need advice right now, I just need you to listen. Okay?"

"Sure."

You nod to yourself and then start pacing, like you're trying to find the words to the chaos in your mind. By your side, your hands shake and clench and unclench and instantly, I know where this is going.

"Shepard, look at me."

And you do. And I drown.

"There is only you."

And it's true, it's true. There's no one else in this galaxy that has your heart, your brain… your soul. I could look into a thousand different blue eyes, and only yours will make me drown. That's how I know it's you, Shepard. That's how I know in my heart. But I can't tell you. I'm… not strong enough.

You chew the inside of your mouth, to find balance in the squall in your brain. After a moment, you sink to the floor next to my leg, resting against it as though wearied by the tricks your mind has played. You rest your hand on my knee and grip the metal for… I don't know. Grounding, I guess.

I put my hand on hers, "Remember to breathe."

And you do, carefully, slowly, like you're scared your lungs are going to give out or rip apart.

"You're on the Normandy. You're here with a crew who cares. You're here with me."

You repeat what I said softly to centre yourself, and add for yourself, "And with Thane."

I haven't got the strength to strangle my subvocals, after hearing that – but everyone on this damn ship is deaf to them anyway.

"I got an email from Talitha. She's doing better."

So Talitha's what set this off. The memory of a destroyed girl back on the Citadel, desperate to take her own life, unable to think of herself as anything but an animal. All because of the trauma of the batarians. The same trauma you lived through on Mindoir – and you told me once you barely dream about it anymore.

And I still won't let anything break you ever again.

"But…" You pause, trying to find the words. "I still wonder at times… why and how I'm holding together. Why the Illusive Man couldn't find someone else to do this job. What other plans he has in store, or has done to me without me knowing. Second chances are nice, but not if I can't see the whole picture."

"There is only you. Only you can save those human colonies and prevent the pain of Mindoir being reborn, and not fall under Cerberus' control. There is no one else strong enough. And I'm not sure there ever will be, in our lifetimes."

"I have to be better," you say, your fingers digging into my knee. Humanity's brightest star, though dimmed, wavers with carried wounds. Like I still choke on water. "I can't keep thinking about my second chance like it could be a curse. I can make a difference. I have to be better than this."

"You only have to be yourself, Shepard – because there is only you."

"I will be better for Thane."

Thane. Again. In our quiet space. What else has he invaded, I wonder? Has he aimed for your brain, so you can't be saved? Thinking about him constantly, even when you're supposed to be doing something else? Or has he aimed for your heart, and there's no way back? Drowning, like I've drowned in you?

"I won't give up this mission, but I don't want to fight anymore. I'm tired, Garrus. I'm sick of seeing pain."

"My Mom is sick."

Your fingers twitches under my palm. I remove my hand and let it rest on my thigh instead.

"She's got this… this disease, and things look bad. The treatments… My sister sends me updates when she can. Yeah, it hurts, knowing I might not see her again. But if I don't see this through with you, there won't be a galaxy for her to live for anyway."

You push yourself up from the ground and shake your head, pacing again, "Garrus, for God's sake, you still have family! You shouldn't have come on this mission, you should be with your Mother, and Father, and sister. Don't throw your life away – they need you."

But I need you more.

"I appreciate you being by my side, there's no one else I'd want to into hell with. But you still have a life. You still have so much more to offer the galaxy. You matter."

You matter. It sits nicely in my chest. "So do you."

"What can I do to help you?"

"I can't control Mom's illness, and I can't undo what's been done. I can only avenge my men. Sidonis… Once I find Sidonis, you can help me with that. I'll be all right."

You nod an exhale sharply. I wonder if you thought about speaking to someone else other than me. You turn on your heels to speak again, but I stop you with a raised hand.

"Listen, there are people in different kinds of pain all around you – civilians, soldiers, everyone. Everyone carries wounds that never quite heal; memories that still hurt after all this time. We don't always see them, because we try to hide them, but they're there. You learn to live with it as best as you can, and if you can improve the situation, do it. Mom with her illness. Me with Sidonis. Thane with his wife, and his son. The greater the love, the greater the pain."

And what you say next is so vulnerable that it makes me feel… privileged. That you let yourself be that open with me – that you let me keep this. "I don't want to hurt anymore."

"You can't escape pain. Pain is inevitable. Pain is the only constant."

Silence fills the room. I look down from your face to the ground, seeing my shadow crawl across the metal. Fighting to keep my feelings down, thrashing to try and keep my head above water, and managing to strangle my subvocals again, because I still don't want to hear what I have to say to myself.

And then we both speak at the same time, "But I've got your six."

We laugh. It's good. It's easy. It makes me choke on water, and I can't get any air.

God, Shepard. What have you done to me?

"Thanks for listening, again. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Goes both ways, Shepard."

You shake your head and correct me with your name.