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Shepard paused just inside the door of the club. She wasn't a club type; never had been. While she understood Samara's point that being who she was would be enough to attract Morinth, she still felt that she would stand out in here like a sore thumb.
She wished she wasn't alone. Samara couldn't come in with her for obvious reasons, but she had hoped Thane would find a way to hide within the club. A drell caught attention, rare as they were, but he was an assassin; he knew how not to be noticed. He had taken his leave shortly before she and Samara set out for the club, saying he had people he needed to see while they were on Omega. Shepard couldn't blame him; but she would have been much happier had he been with her.
The mingling wasn't terrible. She listened to people talk and got in a fistfight and completely avoided the dance floor—the kind of awkwardness she knew her dancing to be would not be attractive to Morinth, she was sure.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, an arresting figure caught her attention. An asari, standing so still within the noise and chaos of the club that the eye couldn't stay away from her. Shepard found herself looking again and again. She was reminded of when Liara had first come aboard the Normandy—an aura of peace had hung around her, soothing Shepard whenever she looked in the asari's direction. This woman's aura excited rather than soothed, but the draw was similar.
She was surprised at how flattered she felt when the asari crooked a finger in her direction, the willingness with which she followed the direction. Careful, Shepard, she said to herself, remembering what Samara had said about Morinth's powers of attraction.
"I've been watching you," the asari said without preamble.
"Yes. I've been watching you, too," Shepard responded breathlessly.
A secretive smile warmed the asari's eyes. "I know. I'm Morinth."
"Shepard." They had debated an assumed name, but figured Morinth would know who she was.
So it proved. "I know," Morinth said again. "What brings Commander Shepard to a club like this?"
"Just … wanted to get away. I like the music."
"Yes. The dark rhythms, the violent pulses." Morinth moved closer, her voice creating a pulse of its own within Shepard. "It stirs something primitive in me."
Shepard swallowed, her throat suddenly gone dry. She wished Thane were here, for more reasons than one. "Yes."
"Do you like violence?"
Startled out of her near-trance by the question, Shepard considered it. Did she? Mostly she found it a necessity of her job, a means to an end. But like it? Not particularly. She wasn't aroused by it, certainly. But Morinth didn't need to know that. "Yes," she said again.
"Shall we go someplace more private and … talk about it?"
"Oh, yes." The response was more heartfelt than Shepard had intended it to be. She hoped Samara would be prompt—this was an even harder task than she had expected.
She followed Morinth willingly to her apartment, not far from the club. "Drink?" Morinth asked.
"Please." The walk had cleared her head somewhat, but her throat was still dry and she felt … heated. Again she wished for Thane, a vision of his mouth at her throat heightening the sense of arousal Morinth had begun to build. She took the glass from Morinth's hand and sat down on the opposite end of the couch from the asari.
Morinth chuckled and slid a little closer, the movement sending a flash of heat through Shepard. "Tell me, Shepard, have you ever wished to just … let go? Lose yourself in pleasure and let the galaxy fix itself?"
She hadn't, but as Morinth's fingers caressed the fabric of the couch, it suddenly sounded deliciously attractive. She didn't even notice as Morinth slid a few inches closer. "Maybe."
"Has anyone ever reached inside that uniform and stroked the woman inside it? Brought her to life?"
"Not really." She thought of Kaidan, who had come closest. It had been a while since she'd heard from him—she hoped he was happy wherever he was.
"Would you like them to?" Morinth was close now, not quite close enough to touch, but nearly.
"Oh, yes." But Morinth had made a mistake, because the hands that Shepard imagined diving beneath her uniform jacket, sliding into the waistband of her pants, were drell, not asari. She missed Thane suddenly, desperately, aching for the touch she'd had such a brief taste of the first time he came to her quarters.
"Good." Morinth was practically on top of her, fingers closing around Shepard's face, turning her head so she looked straight into the asari's eyes. "Tell me you belong to me, Shepard. Tell me you want to feel everything I can awaken in you."
Behind Morinth, Shepard saw a movement. Samara. She closed her eyes in relief, then opened them and met Morinth's eyes directly. "Not a chance."
"What?" Morinth was startled and angry at the refusal. She leaped to her feet, and saw her mother standing there. "Oh, I see. A set-up. Well played, Mother," she sneered.
"I did not want it this way, Morinth."
"Didn't you? You've always wanted to pit your strength against mine. You're in for a shock, Mother. I'm better than you."
"I almost wish that were true, daughter," Samara whispered.
And battle was joined. Samara's greater experience showed almost from the first, but it was her far superior self-control that won through in the end. Without hesitation, she snapped her daughter's neck. "If I had stopped, thought, even for a moment … I never could have done it," she said softly to herself. "I am sorry, Morinth."
"Samara." But Shepard had no words. She reached out to put her hand on the Justicar's shoulder, but thought better of it.
"Please, Shepard. I … would like to be alone."
"Of course." They went back to the Normandy, Thane joining them as they went. He looked at Shepard several times, almost as if he knew what had happened. But of course he didn't, because he hadn't been there. Shepard was annoyed with him for that—and, if she was honest, for how much she wanted him and his everlasting insistence on waiting until he was ready. Why couldn't he be ready? He kept harping on how little time there was, and yet he let it go by in such great measures.
She sat that night on her couch, a glass of wine in her hand, looking up at the stars, letting the events of the day dissipate. A knock came on the door, and she sat up, looking at it over her shoulder. "Who is it?"
"Thane."
"Oh. Come in." She wasn't sure if she wanted to see him tonight or not.
"I wanted to see if you are well, after the tribulations of your day."
"You should have checked in on Samara, instead. Her day was the trying one." Shepard settled back against the cushions as Thane took a seat on the edge of the couch.
"Samara is meditating. She would not wish to be disturbed."
"True enough." Shepard frowned at him. "How do you know about the tribulations of my day, anyway? You weren't even there!"
He looked startled. "What do you mean, I wasn't—" Then he smiled. "I forget that you are so straightforward, sometimes. Of course I was there, Shepard. Did you think I would send you into such unfamiliar danger as an attempted seduction of an Ardat-Yakshi, of all things, alone?"
"But … didn't you?" She sat forward, setting her wineglass on the table and looking at him in confusion.
"No. I left you so that it would seem to anyone observing that I was not accompanying you, and naturally I did not draw attention to my presence in the club. I assumed you would know I was there."
Shepard shook her head. "I had no idea."
Thane slid toward her, taking her hand. "Siha, as long as I have breath to support my body, I will not willingly allow you to walk into danger without me. I promise you that. I believed it went unsaid. Apparently I was wrong."
She squeezed his hand in return. She hadn't known he had any such intention, and she felt better for the knowledge, for the declaration of it. "Thank you for saying it. And for being there. I … It was much harder than I had imagined it would be."
"I thought it might prove to be."
"You didn't say so."
"You are Commander Shepard. You rarely take anyone else's advice on the dangers facing you," he pointed out.
Shepard smiled. "I suppose not."
"If you don't mind my asking, what was it that gave you the strength to deny her, there at the end?"
She looked down at their joined hands, his thumb stroking absently over her skin. "In that moment … she wasn't the person I longed for."
His grip tightened, as though he had intended to pull his hand back and decided against it. "Oh."
"Thane, I … don't know how much longer I can wait. I want—" She lifted her head to look into his eyes, and saw her own longing reflected in their black depths.
"I know, Siha. I, too."
"Then why?"
"I …" This time he did pull his hand from her grasp, jumping up and moving back toward the center of the room, away from her. "I can't."
Shepard got to her feet, but didn't pursue. "So you've said. But I don't know why."
"I … can't tell you. Suffice it to say that I am not worthy of you, your bravery and your …" He shook his head, and hurried out of the room, leaving Shepard standing there feeling sad and wearied and alone.