From the moment Shepard stepped off the Normandy, time seemed to slow, each second ticking past sluggishly, as though it would never go. Thane wanted to treasure each precious moment, the same ones that flew by as though they had never been when he was with Juniper, but with her in peril on this foolish task, alone, when he should have been with her, the time hung heavily on his hands. He stormed out of the med bay when Dr. Chakwas wanted to run another battery of tests. He knew what they would say; so did she. And he didn't want to know. He didn't want this time to have arrived already. He wanted more. So much more.

He snapped at Garrus when the turian tried to while away the time with games of chess and his interminable conversation, and felt only vaguely guilty about it.

At last he was left alone in life support, his narrow cot ignored because there was no Shepard lying in it, pacing back and forth. It was the depth of night—he could feel it only in the hush of the ship, since outer space knows no night or morning. And Thane could no longer hide from the truth.

He was dying. Sooner rather than later. And he would have to come to terms with it.

How much time passed while he was wrestling with that knowledge, Thane didn't know. At last there came a moment of calm, of acceptance, of surrender to the inevitable. He stood still in the middle of the room, counting each slow measured breath, knowing there would be fewer and fewer until they ceased at last.

So. If he was to accept the inevitable, there were a couple of things left to do. He had little in the way of material possessions. His money had mostly gone in the course of Kolyat's raising and education, and what was left would be transferred to Kolyat's accounts when he died. His books he would divide between Kolyat and Shepard, at the end. His guns and knives would go to Shepard.

But the mere distribution of things wasn't enough. He keyed in Kolyat's number on his personal terminal, watching the screen until his son's face appeared.

"Yes?" Kolyat's face was closed off, uninterested.

"I … wanted to speak with you." Kolyat knew already that he was dying; Thane didn't feel the need to mention his recent spell. "How are you?"

"How am I?" Kolyat echoed, the sarcasm evident in his tone. "That's what you called to ask?"

"It is. What could be more important? I should have done so a thousand times over the past years."

He was grateful that Kolyat let the remark go. "I'm fine. There, is that enough? Have we talked?"

"I would be glad if you could tell me a bit about your work with Captain Bailey."

Kolyat sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, but he began to tell Thane about something that had occurred earlier in the day, and responded with interest to Thane's next question … and before Thane knew it, they were deep in conversation, for the first time in far, far too long.

Of course, it ended badly, Kolyat stiffening back into cold formality as soon as he realized he had let his guard down, but the conversation had occurred, nevertheless, and Thane knew he would treasure that memory, even as he hoped the time he had left would yield more of the same.

When Kolyat's face had vanished from the screen, he itched to call up Shepard, to reassure himself of her well-being, but that would be impossible until she had accomplished her mission. Instead he opened a new file, watching the cursor blink as he decided what to say. There would be time, he told himself. Plenty of time. But if there wasn't …

Siha,

I write this with a heavy hand, knowing you will read this letter when I am no longer able to share my thoughts. I am dying, Siha. Perhaps because of the difference in our species, I can hope that time will treat you with kindness and dim the hurt of my passing to faded recollections that a drell would forever remember with perfect clarity.

He had treasured his memories of Irikah, but it had taken Shepard's appearance in his life to dim the pain of Irikah's loss. There was some comfort in knowing Shepard would not suffer in the same manner, although he doubted she would see it that way.

Selfishly, however, I could not leave this world without leaving a piece of me behind that would never fade.

She would have the vids they'd made, the pictures they'd taken, his books with notes in the margins … but this was for her, to know always how much he had loved her.

I once accepted my fate. Nothing remained but a shell destined to die. I only had to choose the when and how of my passing. I had refused to be confined to a bed, gasping horribly as my life beeped away to machinery I had no use for. I thought of my Irikah, broken, bloodied, and betrayed by my absence. Of Kolyat, small and afraid, bravely pushing at his eyes to stem the flow of tears I had entrusted him to cry … for both our sakes.

He resisted the pull of memory. He had lived those memories enough—more than enough. And equally resisted the dread of dying, useless and fading, in a hospital bed. There would be time to worry about that later. He bore some hopes that at the end he could die in a firefight at Shepard's side, doing the work he had been trained for next to the woman he loved. But that was still in the future.

The expectation to move quickly to my end vanished upon uniting with your cause. You awoke me, Shepard. My heart quickened its sluggish beat if only to remain at your side and protect you with everything that I am. I was content to simply watch, take the time left given and praise all I know for allowing me to walk my final days with hope and certainty that I am worthy of more than my cold isolation, solely because you believed.

Again in memory he saw her as she had looked that morning, as the dawn light flooded in through the windows of Dantius Towers. And he knew with pride and humility mingled what an honor it was to be loved by a woman like Juniper Shepard.

He looked at the screen. There was so much more he wanted to say—and yet he had said enough. Almost enough.

I love you. If all else whispers back into the tide, know this for fact. By grace given me by the Goddess Arashu, I bid her divine protection to you, my warrior-angel, my Siha, to succeed in your destiny. To light your path through the coming darkness. To give you hope, when all seems lost.

I will await you across the sea.

Thane saved the file into his personal drive. Someday she would find it, when she needed to. Arashu would guide her.

Folding his hands, he prayed for guidance, for strength, for the courage to leave her with dignity, and for the protection of the gods for her, now and always.