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The next morning, Thane presented himself in the med bay. He found Dr. Chakwas seated at her desk, typing rapidly. She looked up as he came in, swiveling her chair around to face him. "Mr. Krios. I wondered how long it would take you to check in here."
"You have heard, then. About my condition?"
"Yes. Kepral's Syndrome. I had read about it, but not in a long while. I refreshed my knowledge once you came on board. Disappointing to see how little progress has been made in curing it."
Thane nodded. 'Disappointing' was a faint and inadequate word.
Dr. Chakwas got to her feet. "Did the Commander send you in for a physical? She said she was going to."
Just the mention of Juniper's name was enough to make him flinch, and he imagined the doctor's sharp green eyes caught the tiny movement. How much did she know? The entire Normandy knew there was something between him and Shepard, but Dr. Chakwas had been Shepard's friend and doctor on the original Normandy as well, quite possibly her confidante. She appeared to be all business right now, however.
"Come over here, please, and have a seat, let me get your vitals."
She was thorough, the doctor, and surprisingly knowledgeable for someone who had never seen a drell before. Nor was she given to idle chatter while she worked, for which Thane was grateful. His thoughts were dark and consuming, and it was hard enough to pull his mind away from them long enough to answer the clinical questions the doctor asked. He would have been entirely incapable of small talk.
At last it was done, and he pulled his heavy canvas jacket back on, feeling better once he was fully dressed again. He took a seat while Dr. Chakwas updated her files. At last she turned in her chair again, sighing. "Well, you know what I found."
Thane nodded. "Lung capacity 43%?"
"42."
That hurt. He had lost another percent just since he came on board. At this rate … He couldn't think of it. But he had to. "Metastasis to stomach, liver, and heart?"
"Yes. Minor to the liver, barely noticeable to the heart. You're being careful what you eat?"
"Entirely too much porridge."
The doctor nodded, acknowledging the attempt at a joke with a lift of her eyebrows. "You are a transplant candidate, you know."
"So I've been told."
"And you are not on the list?"
"Do you know how long the list is? Or who it's made up of?" He stood up, too agitated to remain seated. "Mothers, children, teachers … people who offer far more to society than an assassin."
"An assassin currently in the process of saving the galaxy."
"I'll have time for that."
"And … afterward?" The doctor stood up, too, her eyes on him, very direct and open. "She cares for you a great deal."
"I know."
"And you won't even try to obtain a transplant?"
"At the expense of whom? Do I play Arashu and determine who lives and who dies? And if there is not a good match in time, or a transplant is attempted and my body rejects the donated tissue?" He shook his head. "I will not give her false hope."
The doctor's green eyes seemed to see more deeply into him than he would have liked. She nodded. "Or yourself, I take it."
"Yes." He wanted hope; by the grace of Kalahira, he wanted some reason, any reason, to hope. But there was none. This visit had only confirmed it. He could offer Shepard nothing but pain, and grief, and loss.
Unexpectedly, Dr. Chakwas chuckled. "I do not envy you the task you have taken on."
"What task is that?"
"Thwarting the Commander. I imagine you've noticed that she tends to plow through any obstacle thrown into her way. She will not take your pushing her away for her own good the way you think she will."
"How did you—?"
Her eyes were kind as they rested on him. "I've been patching up soldiers a long time, Mr. Krios. I've only had to give out a few death sentences in my time, but the first reaction of each recipient was to try to spare their loved ones the inevitable pain—usually by causing that pain immediately rather than let it happen with their death. The old 'rip off the bandage' approach."
"She deserves to be happy."
"She does. Are you certain you know how best to accomplish that?"
He looked away. How could he admit that it wasn't just his Siha's feelings he was attempting to protect, that he was frightened of living, of loving her, of knowing what could have been between them and that it could never truly be. How could he contemplate loving her and losing her in the same breath?
"I don't pretend to have the answer for you, Mr. Krios. I'm a doctor, I reserve my advice on the heart to how to keep it pumping properly. In your case, I recommend regular cardiovascular exercise—in the training room or with the Commander … planetside." Was it Thane's imagination or was there a faint twinkle in the doctor's eye? He certainly could imagine some cardiovascular exercise he would love to engage in, but that led him right back to the crux of the problem. "Also … I have read a great deal about the drell memory. Would I be wrong to imagine you spend a great deal of time lost in memory?"
He nodded. "Tu-fira. Lost in another."
"I must recommend you try to keep your loss of yourself to memory to a minimum. Prolonged sedentary activity could increase the rate of decline of your lung capacity. I strongly recommend remaining engaged with your shipmates—both mental and physical stimulation will keep you in the best possible condition through the rest of this mission."
"And after that?"
Dr. Chakwas shrugged. "Let's live through it first, then worry about what happens afterward."
"An odd position for a doctor."
"Perhaps. I have faith in the Commander, but I am also a realist, and I have accepted the risks I take."
Thane nodded his thanks to the doctor and left med bay, wishing he, too, could accept the risks that lay ahead of him.
After Thane had left, Shepard had spent a long and frustrated night, tossing and turning, her body still aflame from his touch, but knowing that anything she did to relieve that fire would be a pale shadow of what she could have been feeling, and refusing to accept the lesser when she couldn't have the greater.
She'd meant what she said—she did think she understood. If Thane had truly wanted to live, he wouldn't have sunk into his battle sleep so readily after his wife was killed. Being here on the Normandy was a step he had taken because he was dying, because he wanted his death to buy something worthwhile. He hadn't counted on her, on his feelings for her or hers for him, and she imagined he was equally concerned to spare her feelings and to save his own, to avoid becoming entangled with life again just as he was about to leave it. But … nothing in Juniper Shepard's life had prepared her for what she felt when she was with him. The ease, the recognition, the desire, the pull toward him. She recognized him, felt the most fully herself she had ever been when she was in his presence. She couldn't just let that go because there was a chance she was going to lose it soon. After all, they were on a mission that none of them were certain they could survive—that was as far in the future as Shepard cared to look, for the moment.
But how to convince Thane of that was another question. And there was the additional concern—what if she convinced him to be with her and his health suffered? She knew little about drell anatomy, and less about Kepral's Syndrome, although she had looked it up on the extranet.
When the morning finally came, leaving her still tired from a largely sleepless night, she went immediately in search of Mordin in his lab. Probably she should have spoken to Dr. Chakwas, but somehow she felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of those direct green eyes. Like talking to her mother, only more so. And the idea of further having to share meals with the doctor knowing she knew Shepard had been asking about … No. Mordin would forget their conversation ten minutes after it was over, his brain busy running in seven different directions at once. And he likely had more experience with drell, Shepard told herself.
He looked up as she came in. "Shepard. Good timing, just putting these in to incubate. Will have a few minutes afterward."
"Great. Thanks, Mordin." She waited while he carefully closed the door of the incubator, watching the samples for a moment anxiously before he straightened up to look at her.
"Now, Commander, what can I do for you?"
"It's a … medical matter."
"Yes? Dr. Chakwas has more experience with human medical issues; should talk to her."
"I know … this is more … well, not human. I—what do you know about treatments for Kepral's Syndrome?"
"Ah. Thane." He nodded. "Condition advanced. Not much time."
"Yes. I'm … concerned about continuing to take him with me on missions. I know he can't handle much humidity, but is physical activity recommended?" She hoped she wasn't blushing. She was trying to keep her tone as businesslike as she could.
"Oh, yes. Cardiovascular exercise very important to stimulate lung development and prevent—probably delay, at his stage—the stiffness that causes lack of oxygen transport. I would recommend a vigorous course in the training room and as much work planetside as possible. Although …"
"Although what?" It was a relief to know that his trips with her—and potentially more personal athletic activities—were beneficial to his health rather than the reverse.
Mordin looked somber. "His body cannot heal itself effectively at this point—the effort of doing so will exacerbate his condition. He should be careful not to be injured. More easily said than done, of course."
"Of course," Shepard repeated. Thane had signed on knowing the risks, she told herself. He would not appreciate being coddled—and he would know if she tried. Fortunately his style was far less headlong than hers. He shot best from cover, and seemed to blend into any background. She was far more likely to be injured than he was.
"Also, meant to mention a few things, while we're on the subject of medical matters and the drell," Mordin went on. "Aware that mission is dangerous; different species react differently to stress."
"That they do. What's on your mind, Mordin?"
"Sexual activity normal as stress release."
Shepard's eyes widened. Where was he going with this? "Is it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice noncommittal.
Mordin nodded. "So I understand. Salarian stress release not quite the same, but other species—quite fascinating, really. Still … recommend caution with Thane. Drell/human liaisons complex. Thane complex as well, given his condition."
She wasn't sure how he had seen through her—maybe he had known what she meant to ask all along, in which case apparently Mordin was more observant than she'd given him credit for—but at least she could put her cards on the table. "Thane is important to me. Too important to walk away from. But I don't want to hurt him, either."
"Naturally not. Hormones. I understand. Humans really are quite fascinating. Nonetheless, come to me when the rash develops. No … better I send you up some ointment. In a soap, perhaps. Yes. I can easily develop something. Scented?" He delicately sniffed the air. "Herbs and citrus. Easily done. Will speak to kitchen."
"What are you talking about? What rash?"
He blinked rapidly in surprise. "Perhaps not needed quite so soon as expected. Good. Will allow more time to get the balance right. Prolonged human to drell skin contact can cause a small rash, some itching. Oral contact may cause mild hallucinations."
"Mild hallucinations?" Shepard repeated. "What kind of hallucinations?" This was all quite fascinating, and she highly doubted she would have gotten the same information from Dr. Chakwas.
"I understand quite pleasant ones. Pink swirls and flashing lights."
"From any … er, oral contact, or …?"
"Drell skin contains a mild toxin. Sometimes used in alcoholic beverages, in fact."
"Oh, so oral contact with … skin."
"Yes. Not so much tissues."
"Good to know." She hoped very much that she wasn't blushing.
"I'll forward an advice booklet to your quarters," Mordin said. It didn't matter if she was blushing—he had his omnitool out and was typing on it rapidly. "Diagrams, positions comfortable for both species, erogenous zone overviews." He nodded briskly. "Enjoy yourself, Shepard. Will be here, studying cell reproduction. Much simpler. Less alcohol and mood music required."
Shepard was willing to bet a cell didn't run from the room in a panic when it got too close to another cell, either. "Thanks, Mordin."
"Happy to help." Something binged behind him, and he turned to open the incubator. "Good timing as always."
"I'll leave you to it." He had already forgotten her by the time she left the room, anyway.
Later that night she knocked on the door of Life Support, hearing the deep relief in his voice as he called "Come in." He was standing, facing her, when the door opened. "Siha."
"Thane."
"I … thought you might be angry."
"Furious," she told him, and his face fell. "But with myself as much as with you. I knew you weren't … ready. I should have—" He tried to break in, and she held up a hand, refusing to let him blame himself. "But the thing is—there's nowhere else I want to be than right here, with you."
"I feel the same."
"Good." Shepard smiled. "So … we'll take things slow, and we won't worry about the future."
"More easily said than done, Siha." But he reached for her hand, his fingers closing around hers.
"We'll just have to do our best." It wouldn't be easy; she wanted to kiss him so badly. But some of him was infinitely better than none of him.
"You are quite the woman, Juniper Shepard."
It had been a very long time since anyone had addressed her by both names that way, and she felt a little tingle along her spine hearing the name from his lips. "I do my best."
"Significantly more than that, I think. Now, come and tell me about your day." He drew her into the room toward his little table, and everything was as it had been before … as long as she didn't think too much about the touch of his lips on her skin.