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While Joker skillfully piloted the Normandy through space toward their next destination, Shepard was kept busy with all the details attendant on commanding a starship. Maintenance reports, crew fitness reports, her own exercise regimen, painstakingly recreated from Ashley's advice on the original Normandy, research reports, playing referee in the cockpit between Joker and EDI, checking in with Dr. Chakwas in med bay on the condition of her few patients … by the end of the day she couldn't put together a full timeline of everything she'd done, but she knew she was exhausted.

Opening her computer, she found another email from Emily Wong, chiding her for having been on the Citadel and not coming by. Smiling, she hit "reply".

"Emily –

You're right, I was remiss again. Next time I'm on the Citadel, we'll have dinner, on me, and I'll give you an exclusive. Happy?

Shepard"

She liked the reporter, and respected her, which she could rarely say of non-combatant civilians. More to the point, it occurred to Shepard that she had few friends off the Normandy. Wrex, certainly, and Liara, and Tali, although they still needed to go try to convince Tali to come on board for this mission. Captain Anderson was more an ally than a friend, especially now that he was on the Council. And Kaidan … well, they weren't really friends. She didn't know if they were anything. Since their initial exchange of emails after Horizon, there had been one or two more, stilted 'how are you' types, but neither of them seemed to know how to begin to repair the rift between them. That connection seemed to be gone, she thought with regret. Once she would have felt sorrow over the loss, but Kaidan had closed the door on them pretty thoroughly … and thoughts of Kaidan in that way had recently been unexpectedly overtaken by thoughts of someone else entirely.

She thought of Thane, down in the life support bay. Earlier in the day she'd had the chance to check in with Garrus, make sure he was recovering from having taken his revenge on Sidonis while they were on the Citadel—but she needn't have worried. Garrus had known what he was doing and had been prepared for the consequences. But she hadn't wanted to disturb Thane after such an emotionally charged day, and he hadn't been seen outside his room since they returned, which had led her to believe he didn't want to talk. She couldn't help but worry about him, though.

Before she slept, she wanted to at least try to check in. Pulling her boots back on with a sigh, wishing she felt it was appropriate for the Commander to go barefoot in the halls of the ship, Shepard headed for the elevator and took it down to Thane's floor.

Hesitantly, she knocked on the door of the life support bay. There was a pause before he called, "Enter."

She had half-expected to have disturbed his slumber, but clearly he hadn't been asleep. He was sitting at his table, fully dressed, his hands clasped.

He looked around as she came in. "I was certain it would be you."

"I was worried—you haven't come out of here for two days."

"I was meditating on what occurred on the Citadel."

"Are you all right?" She gestured toward the chair opposite him and he nodded, waiting for her to take her seat before answering.

"'All right' would be difficult to achieve. I am better, far better, than I was before, knowing that Kolyat has been stopped from turning down a dark path, knowing that a man such as Captain Bailey is watching out for him, knowing that …" He paused. "Yes. Better."

"Good." They looked at each other across the table. Shepard had gotten the answer she'd come for … but she didn't want to leave. She had been lonely in her quarters, and sitting here with Thane felt comfortable. "Do you … do you mind if we talk for a bit?"

Did she imagine the relief in his eyes? "I would like that. I have dwelt long enough in memory, I think, for one day."

"Can you tell me about that? Several times I've seen you speak about a past event as if you were watching it. Reliving it, really."

"I was. Drell have perfect memories, as I have told you; we can relive any moment in our lives with absolute clarity, down to the smallest detail. Unfortunately, it can be difficult to control at times. Some of us disappear into …" His elegant hands drew patterns in the air as he searched for the right word. "Let's call it solipsism."

Shepard shook her head with a little laugh. "You make me feel undereducated. First you've read human philosophers, and now you display a far better vocabulary than I can claim."

He smiled. "You've led a busy life. I've had a great deal of down time between jobs; I used much of it to read. 'Solipsism' is the idea that the only thing one can be certain truly exists is your own mind. When a memory feels as real as life it is as valid as life. Thinking about a moment brings back the smell of cut grass … the warmth of another's hand on yours … the taste of another's tongue in your mouth."

When he said that, Shepard's own tongue darted out to lick her lower lip, and she had a sudden desire to kiss him, to find out what he tasted like. Clearing her throat, she changed position in her seat to cover her momentary confusion, but when she looked up at him his eyes were on her lips, his expression intent, and that brought the heat back up to her cheeks. She wasn't certain if it was embarrassment or … something else. But suddenly, she knew she wanted to know. She was comfortable with him in a way she had been with few people, as though when they were together she could be fully herself. Not like with Kaidan, when she had to be either Commander Shepard or Juniper—Thane made her feel like she could switch from one to the other in an instant and he would be able to follow her to both places.

It had never occurred to her to be attracted to an alien before—other than Liara, but the asari were different. Everyone was attracted to asari. But Thane didn't feel like an alien. He was just … Thane.

He looked away from her, picking up the lost thread of the conversation. "In long nights alone in another cheap hotel room, another flophouse, another cabin on a spaceship, it is nicer to lose oneself in such memories than to stare at the walls of metal and plastic and contemplate one's sins."

"Don't you lose yourself in bad memories, too?"

"Sometimes. Remembering the times I've taken bullets is certainly unpleasant—but I can look at my knee and see it is not shattered. The memories that are hard to escape are those of despair."

"I don't believe I've ever spent much time dwelling on despair."

"No. You wouldn't."

"Of course," she said with sudden bitterness. "The great Commander Shepard, always surging forward, never faltering."

Thane's eyes were on her face, gentle but firm, refusing to let her fall into that negative place. "Did you not tell me yourself that Commander Shepard has no troubles? Perfect memory," he reminded her.

"I can see I'm going to have to be careful what I say to you and your perfect memory."

"Mm," he agreed. There was something in his face that made her want to ask if he already carried memories of her that he relived … but it seemed an intrusive question. And if the answer was no, well, she really didn't want to know that. "Is that why you place such a large space between Commander Shepard and …" He frowned. "I do not believe I know your first name."

"Juniper." She gave it to him without hesitation, and didn't stop to think what that might mean. "I don't use it much. It isn't even on my official records. I'm listed everywhere as 'J.R. Shepard'."

"Juniper," Thane repeated, as though he was testing how it felt on his tongue. "That's unusual; I don't believe I've ever heard it before."

"It's a tree." She shrugged. "My parents were botanists. Both my names are plants—Juniper Rosemary."

"Rosemary I have heard of. An herb, yes? Perennial?"

"Evergreen. Both are. Probably they meant something by that."

"But here you are living in space, far from anything grown in the soil."

"Yes. I don't imagine they'd be happy with that." Shepard looked away, not wanting to delve any deeper there. "So you can really remember everything that happened in your life? All the way back to birth?"

Thane smiled, recognizing that she needed to change the topic. "Nearly. I expect if we remembered the birth trauma we'd never recover from it."

"And you can relive every assassination?"

"Yes. And I do—I go over every detail, every mistake, to hone my skills, and every target's last breath to remind myself never to take a life lightly."

"But you don't feel guilty."

"No. No more than you do every time we fight our way through a band of mercenaries trying to kill us," he pointed out.

"They're trying to kill us, as you say. We're defending ourselves."

"Chances are, if someone has asked me to set my laser sight on you, you have done something to put yourself there." Thane shrugged. "I see no reason to feel guilt—my employers killed those people; my body was merely the tool they used. If you kill a man with your gun, do you hold the gun responsible?"

"My gun doesn't know right from wrong. And your body may pull the trigger, but it's your mind that makes the choice and sends the signal to your body."

"My soul knows right from wrong," he agreed, "but my body is merely flesh. Flesh whose reflexes were honed to kill. Drell minds are different from humans'. We see our body as a vessel and we accept that it is not always under our control."

Shepard frowned. "Of course it is."

"I know you are more intelligent than that. Does your mind control whether your heart beats? Of course not. Does your mind control whether you weep at a sad thought, or your mouth waters at the prospect of a fine meal? Those are of the body."

"I … suppose," she admitted reluctantly.

Thane smiled, accepting that he had won his point. "Humans often believe in a soul distinct from the body, a spirit responsible for moral reasoning that lives on after the body's death. Our belief is just a bit more literal."

"I can see that, I guess."

"You see, that is what I like about you, Shepard. You do not like to admit when you are changing your position, but you are willing to be open and to listen and to change if you must."

"I'm naturally stubborn. I've been fighting that impulse my whole life."

"It serves you well in many aspects of your life. A less stubborn woman would never have tracked Saren to Ilos. Garrus told me the story—that and others," he added.

It occurred to Shepard that Garrus may have—must have, knowing her gossipy turian friend—also mentioned Kaidan. She wondered if Thane was subtly fishing to find out more. "Garrus doesn't know all my stories," she told him.

"I would imagine not." Did she see a hint of relief there?

She remembered a memory he had relived in a previous conversation, about a woman with sunset-colored eyes. Had that been his wife, or someone else? Without consciously intending to, she found herself asking about it.

His face changed, became remote and sad. "Ah. That time." The memory took him over again, his voice dropping. "Laser dot trembles on the skull. Spice on the spring wind. Sunset eyes defiant in the scope." Clearing his throat, he drew himself out. "A bystander noticed my spotting laser and threw herself between me and the target. She couldn't see me, but she stared me down."

"Did you take the shot?"

After a hesitation, he said, "Not that day."

"It takes a hell of strong person to step in front of a spotting laser and just stand there."

"Yes."

"Is that just another vivid drell memory, or is it special?"

Thane nodded. "She was … a vivid person."

Shepard felt guilty that she had brought up a memory that clearly brought him pain as well as pleasure. She wanted intensely to know who the woman had been, what had been so special about her. Was that his wife, or someone else? But she had intruded enough for one night. Shoving her chair back, she said, "I should … it's late, and another long day awaits."

"Yes."

She was halfway to the door before he spoke again. "Shepard."

Ignoring the way her heart pounded, she turned back to look at him. "Yes?"

"I appreciate these talks we have. I have not had anyone to talk to in a long time, and it is many years since I've had someone to talk to who is as—intelligent, and interesting."

"You've spent a lot of your life alone, Thane," she pointed out.

"I have. Work fulfilled me; reading. I barely spoke to anyone outside my family." He met her eyes, held her gaze with his. "You have also spent a lot of your life alone."

"Also filling my time with work. I should read more."

"I can recommend a few books, if you'd like."

"I would, thank you."

They stared at each other again, the silence awkward and heavy. Shepard felt she should go, but she didn't want to.

"I … need to thank you again, for what you did today for me, and for my son. If there will be anyone to mourn me when I die, it will be because of you. I will always be here for you to talk to."

"Thank you. I—I need that." It was hard to admit to needing anyone, but she knew somehow Thane would understand, and wouldn't think her weak because of it.

"I hadn't thought I did, but I find now that I have it … You are the only friend I have made in ten years, Shepard."

She smiled. Yes, they were friends. She felt that strongly. But something else, underneath, was just as strong, and she no longer wanted to deny it. "Friends, definitely … For a start."

The green plates above his eyes lifted in surprise, and he half-rose from his chair, as though he were going to reach for her. Then, slowly, he sank back into it. "A start?" he repeated. "That is … intriguing."

Relief flooded her. She hadn't been wrong—there was something there, and he felt it, too. "Well, good. I wouldn't want to bore you."

Thane chuckled. "Never that, Shepard. Of all things, I can't imagine you ever being boring."

And on that note, she said good-night, finding that she was still smiling when the elevator opened outside the door of her quarters.