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Shepard left Thane sleeping, and took the elevator down to the med bay. She hoped it was late enough that everyone would be asleep—she didn't want to run into anyone on the way, didn't want to have to talk about what had happened to the Alpha relay, or the batarian colony nearest to it. That was over and done, and nothing she could say or do would make it any different.
No, rather than dwell on what she had done, she wanted to know what was happening with Thane, to get reassurance if she could, and if not, to determine what she could do to stop the course of his illness. Surely there must be something. Cerberus had brought her back to life, completely rebuilt her. Someone, somewhere, must be able to repair a malfunctioning set of drell lungs.
Thane himself had put on an impressive demonstration of the vigor of his cardiovascular system when she'd arrived back on the Normandy, making it clear how much he had worried about her as well as how much he didn't want her to worry about him. But she remembered the spell he'd had before she left, and she never wanted to see him like that again. Damn it, she was Commander J.R. Shepard. If all the responsibilities and the tasks laid on her shoulders didn't bring with them the chance to save the person she loved, then what good were they?
The mess was mercifully empty, and Dr. Chakwas, as Shepard had expected, was bent over her computer terminal, still hard at work. She looked up as Shepard came in, her eyes filled with sympathy.
Shepard held up a hand to keep Dr. Chakwas from saying anything. "How is he?"
Dr. Chakwas got to her feet. "You know that he's dying. He is simply going to die a little sooner today than he was going to yesterday."
"What can we do to stop it?"
"Commander. I understand your desire to fix it—we all do. As a doctor, I have railed at the inevitability of death more times than I can count—"
Shepard couldn't take the speech. Not today. "Then don't let it happen! Let's get out there, let's find an answer!"
"There is none," Dr. Chakwas said crisply. "Don't you think I have looked? I have spoken to colleagues, I have attempted to call in favors, but his entire system is compromised now. Even a transplant would have only a moderate chance of success at this point, and you know he refuses."
"I won't let him refuse."
"You don't mean that. He has the right to decide what to do with his life."
"And my life?" To her horror, Shepard felt her eyes filling with tears. She fought against them, facing down the doctor, her long-time friend. "Everyone else gets to decide what to do with my life, from the Reapers on down, it seems, and I—" It was no use. She couldn't finish the sentence. Turning away, she bit her lip, hard, until the physical pain overcame the emotional. Clearing her throat, she said crisply, "Very well, Doctor. I have your report. I will simply have to find another avenue."
At the door of med bay, she stopped when Dr. Chakwas called her name softly. "I am very sorry. If there was any other way—"
Another day Shepard would have stopped and reassured her. But not today. Today she stalked out of the room and across the mess and hammered on Miranda's door until it opened.
"Shepard! Welcome back."
"This isn't a social call."
"Oh?" Miranda's eyebrows lifted inquiringly. "What can I do for you, then, Commander? I have no pull with the batarians. Nor did Cerberus, naturally."
Shepard dismissed the batarians with a wave of the hand. They would be calling for her blood soon enough, but that was a problem for another day. "Tell me who to talk to that can reverse the effects of Kepral's Syndrome."
"Ah. I see." Miranda sighed. "I'm sorry, Shepard. I didn't—Thane has grown on me. And the two of you deserve a chance to be happy."
"Then help me."
"I can't. Don't you see? I don't have contacts with Cerberus anymore. If I did, they would never waste resources on a drell. If they would, no one in the galaxy knows how to fix this. The hanar are working on it, but there—it will come too late."
"No. There has to be a way. Someone, somewhere in the galaxy. Tell me who to go to!" Shepard could hear her own rising hysteria. Something had to go right, just one thing, just this thing.
Miranda's hands were on her shoulders. "Shepard, look at me."
She waited, and reluctantly, Shepard met her eyes.
"You are luckier than you can imagine to have found Thane at all. Do not lose the time you have by some foolish, desperate attempt to make it longer. Go back upstairs and be with him."
She was right. Shepard knew she was right. At last she could face the root of her desperation—the time it was going to take to straighten this batarian mess out, the time she would have to take away from being with Thane to explain that she hadn't meant all those batarians to die, she hadn't wanted to, but she hadn't had any other choice. Damn Amanda Kenson anyway. Damn the Reapers.
"Shepard?" Miranda asked quietly.
"I'm … I'm all right now. Thank you." It wasn't true, she wasn't all right … but there was nothing she could do to change the situation now, and as Miranda said, she'd been lucky to find Thane at all. She would do what she could to stop borrowing trouble and just enjoy what little time they had.
Miranda's hands lifted off her shoulders, and Shepard took the elevator back up to her quarters, sitting long into the night just watching Thane sleep, dry-eyed, with unshed tears burning her throat.