Thank you for reading! No update next week, but I'll be back on schedule the week after.
It was Thane's favorite part of the day, the time when his Siha came and sat down across the table from him. "Do you have some time?" she asked.
He smiled, because where was he going to go? "What time I have is yours," he assured her.
"How are you?"
He shook his head, "No worse than ever." Reaching across the table for her hands, he added, "You needn't worry, Siha. And you?" She looked weary, and kept shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "You are well?"
"No need to worry about me," she said. It was evidently a stock answer, delivered to soothe an unconcerned questioner. It didn't work on Thane. He simply looked at her, waiting for the real answer, refusing to be put off. No one else pushed her to be truthful with them about her needs and concerns—he would be that person she so clearly needed. At last, Shepard sighed. "Tired, honestly. This morning's was a grueling workout—trying to get in especially good shape before we go up against the Collectors—and then I was on my feet in Engineering most of the rest of the day, managing a dispute between Tali and Donnelly and Daniels."
Most of the time the quarian worked well with the two humans, other than shutting down Donnelly's more off-color remarks, but occasionally they each were determined to prove they were right, and that tended not to go as well.
"I'm sorry, Siha."
"Oh, it's fine. It's my job, after all. But … I really just want to go upstairs and collapse on the couch and take my boots off." She looked at him across the table. "Will you come up, Thane?"
Her quarters. Her couch. Her … bed. He couldn't. That much temptation … But how could he deny her such a simple request based solely on his own fears? "I …" He got to his feet, tugging her up by the hold he still had on her hands. "Of course. Let us go."
"Really?" Her face was shining with relief and happiness. "Thank you."
"I would do much more than this for you, Siha. You have only to ask."
"That's not easy for me."
"I know that." He squeezed her hand. "We will work on it."
"Good." The elevator doors opened and they got on. Being alone with her here on the elevator was surprisingly intimate—more so than in a larger room. Was it the confined space, the idea that someone else could get on at an upper floor and catch them here together going to her room, the fact that they were, in fact, going up to her room to be alone? Whichever way, Thane was finding it hard to breathe for reasons entirely unrelated to Kepral's Syndrome.
At last the doors opened on the hallway outside of her quarters, and Shepard stepped off without hesitation, punching in the code to open the door. She looked at him over her shoulder. "Coming in?"
Belatedly, Thane realized he was still on the elevator, watching her. "Oh! Yes. Yes, of course."
Inside, her quarters were spacious, for aboard ship, at least, and fairly spartan. She had a collection of models of ships encased in glass next to her desk, and … a fish tank, which he found a surprising choice.
"Oh, the fish weren't my idea," she told him when she caught him looking at her. "I'm told that was Chambers, who thought I ought to have something to take care of."
"Because the crew and your companions aren't enough?"
"Something like that. Personally, I think if it was her idea, she should take care of them, but then I'd have to give her permission to come up here, and I don't really want her loose in my quarters. Nice enough girl, but I'm not sure I trust her."
"And you are an intensely private person."
"That, too," Shepard agreed. She was sitting on the edge of the couch, tugging on a boot. "Dr. Chakwas comes up occasionally, but other than that …"
Thane had been cognizant before of how special it was to be invited up, but to hear her say it was something else entirely. His heart contracted at the reminder of how deeply she had come to care for him.
Boots off, she sank back against the couch cushions with a sigh. "Oh, that feels better." She patted the cushion on another section of the sofa, smiling. "Come sit. I promise to behave myself."
It wasn't her behavior that worried him. Her bed was right there, and he was certain that if he suggested it, she would gladly lie down on it with him and— He caught himself. He wasn't going to suggest it. He was here for her comfort and well-being, and allowing her to believe in possibilities that couldn't be would be detrimental to her.
As requested, he walked over to the couch and gingerly took a seat on the edge of the cushions.
The widening of Shepard's smile said that she hadn't missed how careful he was being—but he could also see how much more comfortable and relaxed she was. She laid her head back against the cushion, closing her eyes. "How are you holding up, Thane?"
"I confess, I am looking forward to the end of the mission. It has been many years since I was interested in relaxing, much less was able to take the time."
She nodded, not opening her eyes. A faint frown crossed her face at the movement of her head. "I spent two years dead. Every moment seems irreplaceable now." Sitting forward, she reached up and began taking out the pins that held her hair so stiffly and tightly back from her face, in its carefully wound knot.
"I spent ten years dead," Thane agreed. "I feel similar." He didn't add how strange he found it that he should only reawaken now, when there was so little time left to him. She was just becoming comfortable after a long day, she didn't need the reminder of his mortality and the impossibility of there being anything substantial between them because of it. Not right now.
"We all owe ourselves a memorable vacation after this," Shepard mused. She took out a last pin and unwound the tight roll of hair, letting it spread across her shoulders. "There must be some travel brochures in the ship's computer."
Thane nodded. "I would very much like to see a desert." Perhaps, if they weren't all killed by the Collectors, there would be time.
"That would be nice," Shepard agreed.
He was struck by how much younger she seemed with her hair down, softer and more approachable—and more beautiful. Leaning toward her, he reached out to touch the strands before he thought, and then pulled his hand back.
"It's all right, I don't mind," Juniper told him, seeing the gesture. "Your people don't have hair?"
"None," he confirmed. He curled his fingers around a section of her hair, finding it as silky and smooth to the touch as it looked. Without thinking, he moved closer to her, fascinated by the play of light along the strand as he moved it, her hair made up of brown and black and red, each color shining in the light. As he looked more closely, he could see a wispy little bit in front of her ear, shorter than the rest, and then, as she turned her head to give him a better view, a sprinkling of hair along her jawline and her upper lip as well.
"Humans have hair everywhere," she said, clearly amused by his fascination, as he leaned closer to see better.
"Everywhere?"
"Just about. Like—" She rolled up her pant leg and stripped off her sock, letting him see the fine dark hairs that covered her leg. He touched them lightly, finding them soft to the touch but lighter, less thick and sturdy than the hair on her head. "Most women shave their legs, though."
"Why?"
"Humans don't like to be reminded that we're descended from monkeys, I guess. Being hairless, or at least looking that way, is considered a status symbol."
"But you don't shave your legs?"
"No. My parents were opposed to that kind of thing, the trappings of female beauty, much of which my mother considered existed only to make a girl look like something she wasn't. And by the time they were—gone, and I could make my own decisions—well, there's not a lot of point in shaving your legs when they're always covered by uniform pants. Besides, according to the other girls in my barracks, once you shave them, the hair grows back in much darker and thicker, so once you start you really can't stop. And apparently it's itchy and uncomfortable." She shook her head, chuckling. "I can't believe I'm talking about this with you."
"I've never spent any time with a human before, at least, not enough so to pay attention to their hair. I find this quite interesting." He rasped his hand over the hair on her shin. "So is it like this all over?"
"Some. On my arms it's just as dark, but less thick, and the hairs are shorter, but on most of my body you can really hardly see it. Here." She stood up, unfastening her jacket and pulling it off, laying it carelessly on the edge of the couch. Under it, she wore a black tank top, the lines of which reminded Thane forcibly of the dress she had worn the other night, and how she had looked in it. "You can see here on the back of my shoulder what the hair is like in other places."
He stood up, no longer interested in the hair on any human's anatomy other than hers, and interested in hers now for reasons that should have sent him hurrying from the room. But his pulse was pounding heavily in his ears, drowning out the small voice warning him of his danger. "So I see," he whispered, looking at the firm skin on the back of her shoulder and the faint gleam of the hair there. He whispered his hand along it, feeling it move beneath his fingers, like velvet, and he blew on it, paying more attention to the shiver she gave in response than to the way the hair reacted. Without thinking, he rubbed his cheek against her skin there … and from there he was a lost man.
His lips were so near her skin now that to turn his face and kiss her there was the action of an instant. He put out his tongue, tasting her. Juniper caught her breath at the sensation, and Thane put a hand on her upper arm, feeling the firm muscles beneath his fingers, to hold her there while he moved his mouth to another spot and kissed her again. She tasted … fresh, and sweet, with just a hint of salt, and he found he was hungry for her as he had never been for any food.
His free hand slid around her waist, splaying across the fabric that covered her stomach, and he pulled her firmly back against him, every curve of her backside molding to his body. His legs felt weak, warmth melting through him, as he set his lips to the top of her shoulder, slow, unhurried exploratory kisses moving inexorably inward toward her neck.
Skipping over the strap of her tank top, he put his mouth on the junction of her neck and shoulder and sucked at the skin there.
His Siha trembled in his arms, whispering his name, and he felt a fierce delight at her response to his touch. Her head tipped to the side, her hair sliding away from her neck, exposing the pale, smooth skin to his mouth, and her hand covered his on her stomach, their fingers entwining. Thane moved up her neck, slowly, reveling in every tiny whimper or soft sigh that escaped her, and as he did so, their joined hands moved up over her stomach, pushing the fabric of her tank top out of the way, his fingers sliding over the exquisitely soft skin there. He wanted to turn her around and go down on his knees in front of her and taste that soft skin, and then move either lower or higher, or both, and taste her in those places, too. His legs shook with the effort of remaining standing. What a glorious memory this would make. Even in the midst of the moment, he anticipated living it over and over again in his mind …
But for how long? The thought rushed over him like a deluge of icy water. He measured his future in months. No cure, no long-term treatment that was viable for him. No hope. He had no right to allow her to tie herself to him. That she loved him, or thought she did, he knew as surely as he knew his own name. But it was not yet too late to protect her from the worst of the pain that love would surely bring her.
Abruptly, he stepped away from her, the effort like tearing off his own skin. "I … am sorry. So very sorry. I should not have—"
He stopped, because Shepard was bent over, her arms protectively across her stomach. He had hurt her, because he was a weak-willed fool and a coward.
But even as he cursed himself, she straightened, reaching for her jacket and putting it back on. "It's all right," she said, although she still wasn't looking at him. "I understand."
Did she? Or was she just saying that to make him feel better? Thane was in awe of her incredible strength. Truly, she was Arashu's angel made flesh. "Siha—"
"Thane," she said, her voice sharp. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He wasn't about to remain and continue to hurt her. "Yes. Of course. Good-night."
As the doors slid closed behind him, he thought he heard her answer him, which was more than he deserved. She was more than he deserved.
Bereft, angry with himself, hurting physically even as his heart hurt for her, he sought the refuge of the dark interior of the elevator.