The fine hairs of her skin rise as she feels the wind on her arms and neck, blond hair lifting in the current as people walk around them. He pries her arms away from her sides, linking his strong limbs under her breasts and feeling the smooth lines of her belly, sinking his hands further down her trim sculpt of abs into her skirt about her waist…Thane opens his eyes. "I had a dream about you and I on the cliffs of Parmenis, a place on Rakhana that is no longer in existence due to the drying up of her ocean there."

Branth lifts her gaze from a tablet in the observation lounge, Samara out for the evening as she has gone for some time off the ship on Ilium, a moment for the Justicar to reflect on things that will come to pass…Thane stands by the doorway of the lounge, looking at Braith kneeling sideways on the couch, her head turned so she can see him over her shoulder…Blond hair in a high braid that loops its laces intricately from her top of her crown to the back of her neck and down behind the rise of the bench's padded back support. Her eyes are on him, standing there in his mock Cerberus getup, black and gold what with the trim around his shoulders and hips, white and black everywhere else…He changes out of it more often than not, preferring to be in his darker, starker uniform from hunting…but this evening cycle aboard the ship, he prefers to be more accessible and…relaxed.

Branth peeks down at his bare feet on the floor grill and carpet lining the room from wall to wall, least present where air vents must breathe into the area, "…Krios, you dreaming about me now?"

She sets down the tablet and throws her arm over the back of the bench support, "…I…" Thane stumbles with his words, "…I have never been to Parmenis…When I met my wife, I had similar dreams of being with her on worlds and in places I had only read about…Never did I have the time to visit."

"We'll have to change that, won't we," she releases a sad, reserved smile.

Thane stiffly moves off the frame and comes deeper into the lounge, his dark eyes revealing to her—He is focused…on Branth at that moment…

"Krios," her voice is quietly open to him, and he hears more than what she shares, "…You're making me nervous." He turns round the bench and makes his way to the cushion beside her, sits down without an invitation, and moves the tablet to the floor, sliding it out of view…He makes a note of the images she had on her research tabs…Drells and women in various positions, exploring, enjoying, skewing the lines of what was taboo and what was…not. She moves only a little towards the arm of the bench beside her left as he gazes into her eyes and the softest presence of a notion belies his stare.

The ridges of his head crests, the folds of skin along his throat start to invite her to touch them, the longer she looks. They are smooth to her fingertips, and she catches her nail in one before gently, carefully, turning her finger so the back of her slender digit may glide softly over the blue and white speckling among the folds…Soft and rough as a dewlap, so much more structured and thick. Her curiosity divides her from the held belief she should maybe only stick to her boring species…compared to this drell and all he intends to offer…Whether by a word, a touch, a gesture, a moment in peace…"Siha," he whispers deferentially as her hand draws away, "…do not stop touching me…" Something loosens in his gaze and Branth suddenly gasps inwards.

Thane and her lips brush together in sweet parting caresses, moving together and continuing so for what feels an eternal moment aboard the Normandy. His skin is rough in places where her fingers slip, smoother elsewhere, supple as well-worn leather and tight over lobes of musculature—unlike anything she has felt before…

"Can we do this," she whispers, looking up into the darkness of his eyes…Thane nudges her brow with his own head…

"I can close my eyes, pretend you are her, if you wish…But your belief in loyalty to the dead is not mine," he closes his eyes none the less, "…What if my eyes were open, I would be seeing you, not Irikah."

She stands up and turns to walk from him, Thane clasping her wrist and pulling her back to sit beside him again.

"Thane, this will change…everything."

"I agree…" He cups her hips and moves her onto his thighs, feeling her weight compress him, fulfill him in her one hundred fifty-three pounds alone, "…It will change our current crew's dynamic…It will change our hopes for the future of this mission…It will change us towards each other."

Branth starts to hide within herself—He witnesses it there in the lounge, she before him on his lap…His hands move up to her shoulders and down to her thighs as he glances between her face and waist.

She shyly—a commander of the Normandy—peers at him from the tilting cant of her head, brown eyebrows calm and flat against her skin, "…You're afraid, too, aren't you."

"We are different, you and I, Branth," he likes the name of her on his tongue and it feels too familiar, but it is what he wants…She is no longer Commander to him, nor Shepard.

Her pink lips smile at him, "…Great…Neither one of us is confident in this decision…That makes me feel a little better." Her fingers tickle over the smooth, thin fabric of uniform on his chest…Thane takes hold of her four fingers and turns her wrist, kissing each on the middle knuckle as he travels to her heel of her palm…I love you, Daddy…

Thane's eyes widen as the memory grips him and does not let go, "…I love you, Kolyat, now go and see your mother for your meal…"

Branth stares at him as he goes into this phenomenon of lived-in memories…Who's…Kolyat?…He has a son…Maybe it's not the same—

"Thane?" Her hands draw away from him, feeling the sudden elephant growing there between their chests, like it is about to sit in their laps and knock Branth backwards.

Thane blinks his eyes and reaches out to touch a memory moving before him…His hand brushes a loose tendril of blond hair that hangs by her jaw, "…I will be in shortly, my son." Branth quickly scuttles off his thighs and backs up to the observation lounge's window, her hand to her mouth…

"Thane!"

Darkness returns to his eyes as he realizes he is alone in Life Support, coming to from a dream within a dream…Thane sits up and holds his eyes, blocking out the lasting memories of what was…

…And will never be…

He turns out of his cot, feet on the floor as he stands and runs to the doorway…He stops, realizes EDI is always listening and present to help, "…EDI, please."

"Sere Krios," the AI's soft, sleepy voice emerges from the air, "…Your signals are erratic. Would you like for Mordin to speak with you about your lung issue now."

"No, EDI," Thane thinks there is something more important than his failing lungs to save, "…Inform the Commander I must speak with her…It is urgent, and I—"

"I have notified Shepard of your distressed state and she is on her way up from Grunt's incubation tank."

"Thank you…EDI," he sits back down on his cot, hands between his knees as he prepares himself for the small but important request…That Branth Shepard help him find his missing son…If there is anyone in this universe who will be able to help me find him, he thinks to himself, it will be she…She might never forgive me for it, but this mission…It is too much to bear, knowing what I have done and that Fate awaits me…and he will be alone in this world.

"I must try," he murmurs to himself.

"Pardon, Thane," EDI says and Thane brings his head up to look into the air, as if to do so is to look into the eyes of the Normandy's gifted AI herself…itself…

"Nothing, EDI, I was speaking to myself—" The door opens to his room, and Thane's face is lit with the glow from the lights out in the hall between Observation and Recreation…Branth is standing there, her blond hair loose about her shoulders and her hands at her sides.

"Hey, Krios," she steps easily into the room, and EDI closes the doorway behind her, "…EDI said you were having some trouble sleeping…Want to talk?"

Thane emits a quiet sigh and stands from the squeaky cot to go to the window with its view of the Core room below it, "…Commander Shepard," he says meekly, "…I would like to tell you a secret about myself…One I am…" He pauses, and Branth hears the struggle in his silence, "…Something that…shames me greatly…"

"What is it," she asks sensitively, her footsteps inquiringly drawing her closer to his back, "…You really aren't going to die on me because of some cold in your lungs."

He turns slightly, hesitates, "…No…" All the more harder is it to tell her now, "…Something…more lastingly permanent, and it will endure when I go on…I hope."