Painful Revelations
Thane sat at the table, reading an old text brought to Kahje by the drell during the exodus of Rahkana, resigned to another night with little to no sleep. At least the book kept his mind from wandering, kept him from tu-fira. He knew the AI was always listening, always recording, though Shepard seemed to think EDI only shared mission critical information with the Illusive Man. Without knowing exactly what her programing considered mission critical, however, Thane was loathe to allow himself to become lost in memories of Irikah. Something told him if the Illusive Man was truly interested in Thane's history, he wouldn't be pressed to learn the details. It didn't mean Thane wished to share them with him, in such an intimate way, however.
As if she knew Thane's thoughts trailed to her, EDI's hologram appeared. "Thane, Shepard wants to know if you would like some tea. She said you can either meet her in the mess hall, or if you prefer, she can bring you a cup to Life Support."
He lifted the corner of his mouth in a smile, pleased by the idea of another night spent enjoying her company. If neither of them found sleep, they might as well not spend the time in solitude. He'd spent so much time in solitude. "I would love some tea. Either location suits me, I leave the decision to her."
A moment later, EDI relayed the next message, "She said she will bring tea to Life Support so as to not disturb the crew."
"I see. Thank you, EDI." He turned off the datapad, setting it aside on his cot and pushed away from the table. Perhaps he'd go see if she needed any help.
He found her gathering together cups on a tray, humming to herself as she organized saucers and spoons. He stopped just beside the first table in the mess and watched her, fascinated by the human in a way he didn't completely understand. The kettle began to whistle, and she turned, lifting it from the range and turned off the heat. But then she stopped, standing still with the kettle hanging in the air. Her brow furrowed, shoulders slumping.
Remembering the look of terror in her eyes the night before, he moved closer, clearing his throat before tucking his hands behind his back. Searching her face when she looked up, he asked, "Are you alright, Shepard?" He waved a hand at the kettle. "I thought I might offer to assist."
She smiled, though it seemed forced, and sat the kettle down on the tray. "Yeah, sorry. I just got lost in thought for a minute." Picking up the tray, she started walking.
He stepped forward, stopping her in her tracks to wrap his hands around the outer edges of the tray. "Please, allow me," he said, offering her a soft smile. He didn't see the same fear in her eyes, but clearly some thought or another disturbed her.
"Alright." She grinned, releasing her hold on the tray. "You've sure got the whole gentleman thing down pat."
"Ah. I've learned my mannerisms sometimes bother humans, particularly females of your species. I hope I haven't offended you." He raised an eyebrow ridge in question, falling into step beside her as she resumed walking.
"Nah." She shrugged. "You've seen how I work a battlefield, I'm sure you have no doubts that I can actually manage to carry a tray a few yards."
"Indeed." He chuckled, and it seemed to bring another smile to her face.
She opened the door for him when they arrived to Life Support, and he waited for her to cross the threshold before following her inside. She moved to the table but stopped, looking around the room. He sat the tray down, watching her with curiosity, wondering what thoughts crossed her mind as she took in the space he'd claimed for himself aboard her ship. It'd been so long since he'd allowed anyone else into his personal space—even since there'd been anyone else who had any desire to enter his personal space—he was reminded of how unnerving it could be the first time Shepard came to Life Support to speak with him. There was nothing different for her to see on her current visit, yet she seemed somehow more interested.
She moved to the weapons he'd laid out on the shelves built into the wall, her hands behind her back as she looked them over. "Huh. Why is it no one but Kasumi and Zaeed seem interested in personalizing living quarters?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, eyebrow raised.
Holding his hand out to the chair closest to the observation window, he said, "I keep few material possessions; even had I the desire for such objects … being an assassin necessitates traveling lightly."
She hummed, sitting down. "Makes sense, I suppose." She reached over to the tray, opening the box of tea and putting a tea bag in each cup.
He picked up the kettle, feeling her gaze on him as he poured the water over the tea before setting it back down again. "As for the others, perhaps they do not feel they will be aboard the Normandy long enough for it to be worth their time?"
"Maybe." She seemed to think about it for a moment, picking up her spoon to move her tea bag around in her cup. "I suppose Garrus makes the Main Battery his own, just not with things so much as the way he moves around the space, works on the guns … he loves that sort of thing." The curve of her lip lifted into a smile, her eyes softening as she spoke about the turian.
"You are fond of him," Thane said, drawing her attention back to him as he took a seat across from her, stirring his own tea.
"Yeah … I suppose I am. He's really been there for me. Even when I showed back up with Cerberus agents in tow, he just … trusted me." Sighing, she continued to stir her tea, gaze wandering aimlessly. "When I first ran into Tali, she was understandably cautious, but she didn't turn her back on me. Kaidan, though …." Pain flashed across her eyes, and her lips pressed in on themselves for a moment. "Anyway," she said, waving her free hand, "Garrus is a good friend. The best. And I can tell he's really struggling to deal with his own ghosts right now." She sighed again, the sound wistful. "I wish he'd open up, talk to me about what's going on in that head of his. I want to help, I just don't know how, but I do know if I push him, he'll lock down completely."
It amazed him how easily she seemed to share her innermost thoughts with him in the quiet moments of night, when the Normandy itself held an almost sacred silence. "Undoubtedly, he understands your desire to help and your willingness to make yourself available to him." Words soft and unobtrusive, he stirred his tea, gaze staying on her. "Perhaps, in time, when he is ready, he will come to you."
"I hope so." She tilted her head a little, studying him, a hint of doubt flitting across her eyes. "You're not letting me keep you up, are you?"
"Not at all." He stopped stirring. "I was still awake, reading. I confess, I'm finding it a little difficult to adjust to the … rhythms of a warship." He glanced down at his cup, scooping his tea bag onto his spoon. "I was pleased when EDI told me you wished to have tea."
"Yeah?" She smiled when he dipped his head. "It's nice … having someone to talk to instead of spending the night staring at my walls, lost in my own, depressing thoughts."
"Indeed." He returned her smile, noting the way she appeared to relax with his reassurance. "And you provide the most intriguing company, Shepard."
It was true, even if he didn't have much to compare it to, he'd encountered few who held any interest for him. She intrigued him. Admittedly, much of her mystique came from the fact she'd escaped Kalahira's embrace, a feat he no longer doubted, but it didn't account for all of his interest in the human. The things she said, the way she spoke, she put him at ease. Not an easy task, undoubtedly. It reminded him of Irikah. Perhaps it was inappropriate to compare Shepard to his wife, but it was indeed a skill they both possessed.
She chuckled. "Thanks, you, too." She pulled her tea bag from the water and pressed it against her spoon. "So, tell me more about the drell memory thing. How do you keep from reliving a memory every few seconds, I mean, you have to be constantly surrounded by people, places, things tied to one memory or another."
Indeed.
"Ah. Learning to control one's memories is taught to us very early on." He removed the tea bag from his cup, setting it on the saucer. "No drell masters it completely, but we eventually learn to ignore insignificant memories, brushing them aside without thought, out of habit, almost reflex unless we choose to review them for one reason or another." Waving a hand at nothing in particular, he reached for the sugar as she sat it back on the tray. "Some memories, naturally, are more salient than others and are not so easily set aside. They are particularly difficult when we are actively thinking about them or, as you said, something tied to them. Inevitably, there are times when we fail, the memory consumes us, and the compulsion to give voice to them is undeniable." He paused, lips parted as he considered his words. "This is particularly common when there is also strong emotion tied to the memory or the subject matter."
"And you … it's not just like seeing or hearing these things again, but you sense them in other ways, too? Taste? Touch? Smell?" She raised her eyebrow, bringing her cup to her mouth.
"Precisely. I'm sure you can imagine how discomforting that can be when remembering an injury, or the repulsive odor of a days old corpse. But … other times, remembering the feel of another's hands caressing you after spending countless nights alone," he said, clearing his throat, "or the warmth of a sun on your scales when you are somewhere uncomfortably cold, can make an otherwise unpleasant situation more tolerable."
She picked absently at the edge of the tray where the painted pattern along the rim had begun to chip and fade away. "I remember dying … with more clarity than I'd like, but I can't imagine having to really remember it the way you remember things."
"I—You must have been terrified." He sipped at this tea, at a loss as to what else to say.
"Mhmm. At first, at least. I was knocked away from the ship by a piece of debris, and it ruptured my suit. I was losing oxygen, fast." Her hand crept up to rub at her chest and throat, gaze glazing over. "Even though I knew there was no way I was going to survive, I remember desperately trying to staunch the flow. Hang on to life for just a few seconds more." She looked horror-stricken, eyes wide, skin paler than he'd ever before. "But just before I lost consciousness, there was this … calm. Luckily I blacked out before Alchera's atmosphere started to burn me up, dead long before I hit the ground." She shuddered, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again, focused on the kettle.
He clasped his hands on top of the table. "Tell me, is there anything that makes you feel alive? What brings you comfort?" Perhaps if she identified those things, she might be able to refocus herself, divest her energy into the things that brought her peace instead.
She took a deep breath, not even taking the time to think about the answer. "Pain."
Turning her attention to her tea, she appeared reluctant to hold his gaze. It certainly wasn't the answer he'd been expecting, nor was it one he wished to encourage her to pursue. She held such strength, and her struggles only made that more clear, but he could see how the existential crisis—as she called it—she was stuck in might destroy her if she didn't find a way to stave off the effects.
"Every time I take a bullet out there … every time I see my own blood oozing out of a wound, I feel alive," she said, her voice soft and distant.
"Is there nothing else?" he asked after a moment of silence, working to keep his voice free of judgement.
She glanced up, meeting his gaze. "Yeah. Um, being touched." She shrugged, laughter forced. "Which doesn't happen so much these days. But even small things, like shaking someone's hand or a pat on the shoulder when someone passes by. It helps. This helps, too. Just talking, not having to be 'Commander Shepard' for a little while. Just … just Jane."
"Jane," he said, testing the name out.
She offered him a weak smile, taking a sip of her tea. "It's been so long since I've even heard my name aloud, I almost forgot what it sounds like."
"Would you prefer I call you Jane?" He raised a brow ridge, already making the shift in his mind, hoping it might help her, even just a little. "While we have tea, at least?"
"If you can keep it straight to call me Shepard in front of the crew and when we're on duty, then yeah." She nodded, the look of distress easing away from her once more. "Why not? It's kind of nice to hear it again."
"Very well, it won't be an issue." He smiled, bringing his cup back to his mouth. "I've gone years at a time not hearing my own name, only using one alias or another. It is, indeed, refreshing to have it known and used by so many now."
"When this is over, will you go back to using an alias? Disappear into anonymity until your time comes?" She swallowed, taking on a haunted look for a heartbeat before she seemed to slam a shutter down over whatever emotion her words evoked.
"I—I haven't really considered." He lowered his gaze, discomforted more by the sudden lack of emotion in her eyes than whatever ghosted across them a moment before. Staring at his tea, he held the cup between his palms, soaking in the warmth.
"Maybe you'll drop me a message from time to time?"
Returning his gaze to her, he dipped his head. "As you wish, for as long as I am able. I suspect I'll have less to say as my condition deteriorates, however."
"Yeah." She searched his gaze for a minute, he only wished he knew for what. "You sure you don't want to see if Dr. Chakwas or Mordin—hell, maybe even Miranda—can do something for—"
"I am at peace, Jane." He knew interrupting her was rude, but he wished to make himself clear on the matter. "You are already giving me more than I could ask for, a chance to do something right and good before I go to the sea."
Shoulders dropping, lips turning down that corners, brow creasing, she said his name. Her disappointment rang loud, as clear as the calls of the songbirds of Kahje. She made no attempt to hide it, either. "Thane …."
"I need nothing more, but it is kind of you to be concerned." Why did he detest seeing that look on her face so much?
She huffed, blowing stray hairs around her face. "That sounded like a really polite way to say 'butt out'. You're a grown man, I can't tell you what to do. But it doesn't take a genius to see you're punishing yourself for something. I just hope you don't change your mind only after it's too late."
Lips parted, he blinked at her a few times. Confounded by the human in front of him, her ability to reach deep down inside of him and pull things to the surface he refused to acknowledge himself, he brought his cup up to take a drink. Shaken, unsure of what to say, or even how she was able to see him so clearly, he let the silence stretch between them, growing awkward and uncomfortable.
She blew out another heavy breath. "Sorry. Guess that really isn't my place to say."
"You have no need to apologize, it was an honest and astute observation." He settled his cup down on the saucer, finding his composure once more. "Perhaps not one I wished to hear, nor one I wish to discuss, but accurate nevertheless."
"Fair enough." She gave him a soft smile. "So, what do you want to discuss?"
Her willingness to change the subject put him at ease, pleased him. "Hmm. Why did you decide to join the Alliance?"
"I'm from Mindoir," she said, as if that was explanation enough. She gave him a wry smile, seeming to understand he didn't follow her train of thought, and she waved a hand. "I was sixteen when batarian slavers attacked, everyone I knew—family, friends, everyone—was either slaughtered or taken. An Alliance patrol saved my life. What else would I do when I turned eighteen?"
He knew of the attacks on Mindoir, and if he'd thought about it for a moment, he might've made the connection, but he still wouldn't have understood why that led her to the Alliance without further explanation. "My apologies, I wasn't aware." And yet, he couldn't say she seemed all too discomforted by the topic.
"It's alright. I've had thirteen years—well, fifteen, I guess … if you want to count the time I spent on Cerberus' slab being put back together—to deal with it." She snorted, an indelicate and amusing habit of hers, he realized. "I don't even know how old to consider myself anymore." She glanced at him. "How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Not at all. I'm thirty-nine." He took a sip from his cup, thinking his age an irrelevant factor, something simple that carried no weight for him, easy to share. "You continued to exist those years, despite having no memory of the events. Your soul remained, your body … your cells, remained, even if your biological processes were stopped."
"I suppose you're right." She brushed her thumb back and forth across her lower lip, the gesture seeming completely absent-minded. "So, I guess I'm thirty-one."
"Indeed. Young, for a human and yet so accomplished." He smiled, something within him relaxing when she let out a light-hearted scoff. "The first human Spectre. I was there, watching from the shadows, the day the Council gave you the honor."
Eyes lighting up with surprise, she raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"It was a momentous occasion." He waved a hand, brushing it aside, trying to make light of the matter. "My target was there, in the tower, watching you as well. He was quite invested in the proceedings, there was little risk of him escaping while I watched."
Grinning, she asked, "And what did you think? Was it too soon for humanity to be given such a privilege?"
His brow ridges tugged inward, and he shook his head. "You proved yourself worthy by your deeds, whether your species joined the galactic community twenty-six or two hundred and six years prior."
She laughed, the sound light and musical, picking up her cup. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a Commander Shepard fan."
Perhaps he'd been intrigued by her from the start, but he'd hardly consider himself a 'fan', he didn't go out of his way to study her, to learn about her the way he would've with a target, didn't follow her work the way he might with a favored author. Yet, there was a grain of truth to her teasing. He'd admired her determination everytime her name cropped up in the news, her ruthless, tireless pursuit of an enemy she felt threatened the safety of the galaxy, her persistence in trying to convince the Council of the seriousness of the threat Saren and Sovereign posed. As he told her the day they met, she'd made a career out of doing the impossible.
He smirked, draining his cup. "You are … impressive."
She blushed, the red hue starting just above her suprasternal notch, spreading slowly up her neck towards her face. Fascinating. She seemed to do that often when speaking with him. He wondered if it was the subject matter or the company which brought the physiological response out in her so frequently. Surely it wasn't something she did when acting as commander.
Hiding her face with her cup, she snorted again, glancing away and rolling her eyes. "Says the man reported to be the galaxy's best assassin."
He chuckled, picking up the box of tea. "May I?"
"Of course." She waved her hand at the tray. "Help yourself."
"My thanks." He opened the box, putting one of the small satchels into his cup before picking up the kettle. "I've reviewed your reports on the reapers. With your permission, I would like to forward it to my contacts within the Illuminated Primacy."
"If you think it'll make a difference, please do. Hell, forward it to everyone you know." She watched him as he poured the water, and he wondered what thoughts ran through her mind.
"The hanar are a very … deliberate people. Undoubtedly, they will look into your evidence and take their time discussing the findings, but I believe they will take the matter seriously." He turned his hand out. "What they do after, in response, I can only guess. They are very protective over Kahje, however."
"Mmm." She sipped at her tea. "I'd say so, it's not on any of the star charts. What's it like there? Other than being mostly ocean and too humid for drell?"
"It's …." he said before pausing, nictitating membranes sliding over his eyes as he looked away, gaze fixed on someone light years and more than a decade away. He felt himself being pulled into the memory, and despite his best intentions, he was helpless to stop the words from leaving his lips. "Hanar dance on the waves behind them, diving below the surface only to reappear again a moment later, their movements graceful. Ethereal. Bioluminescence flashing with declarations of their delight. She runs along the beach, white sand kicking up with each step. He laughs. Looks back over his shoulder. 'Catch me, Mother!' She grins, sunlight glinting off her scales, running faster. He turns, moving out into the water, and she laughs, the sound divine, from the lips of an angel. My angel, my beautiful siha." Ripping himself away from the memory took every ounce of willpower he had. He blinked, lowering his gaze as the quiet hum of the drive core and the wide-eyed face of Shepard rushed back in around him. "Forgive me … I—I believe I'm more tired than I realized."
She didn't move or speak for long, endless moments. His heart thundered against his ribs, lungs aching with the strain of keeping his breathing steady. Prayers bounced around inside his skull, begging Arashu to protect him and give him strength, for in that moment, he no longer felt in control. For the first time in ten years, he didn't feel in control.
"Of course," she said, voice soft.
He watched her hand move into his field of vision, settling her cup onto the tray before she pushed out her chair. Picking up the tray, she stood and walked away, but she stopped after a handful of steps.
"Thane, I—" She paused, her hesitancy weighing down the air even more. "We're going to survive this mission."
Steeling himself the best he could, he turned to look up at her. The resolve and sympathy etched into the very lines of her face told him so much about the woman. Perhaps another time he might care to ponder on what exactly it said. He dipped his head. "Rest well, Jane."