Life had a way of never quite working out the way Shepard planned. She had finished recruiting her team, had ensured that they had all checked their baggage at the door, and had planned on making a slick and impressive jump through the Omega-4 relay into Collector space, surprising the holy hell out of them and generally kicking everyone's ass.

Then Joker messaged her.

She knew even before the pilot told her what happened that something was horribly wrong—his voice never held that acrid tone of fear and self-loathing—but she never imagined that her crew, her entire crew had been kidnapped by the enemy.

The Illusive Man was right—it did seem personal. But she did not share his optimism regarding the Collectors' hidden fear of her; it seemed brazen, a brash insult, a wicked taunt. And now, instead of a calculated entrance that left little to no room for error, she was left with no choice but to sally forth with a barely cobbled together plan, based on conjecture and spur of the moment intelligence that they couldn't confirm. It wasn't exactly how she wanted to approach a suicide mission.

Things had moved quickly—too quickly for her to stop and take a moment to catch her breath—and before she knew it, they were on their way to the relay, and she had barely two hours before she would be charging into the den of the beast. An unnatural silence permeated the vessel, and not just because it was nearly a ghost ship. Her squad padded through the halls like they were already dead, moving in near silence, each deep in thought—whether their minds were consumed by prayers to their gods or memories of loved ones, she didn't know. And, before long, the halls were empty, everyone retiring to their respective quarters to spend their last free hours however they wished.

Shepard thought that perhaps she should address them somehow, but she felt the superfluity of it—they were all battle hardened, all used to impossible odds. Anything said by her, now, would be pale and unnecessary. There were times that a speech like Kirrahe's was needed, and there were times, like now, that needed only silent, individual introspection.

Thus, she found herself alone in her room on the eve of battle—even Thane had left her to be by himself. She let out a long sigh, regretting her indecision regarding the drell—everything had happened so quickly that Thane had not been able to follow through on his promise to continue what they had started. If she hadn't delayed things for so long, then they might have been able to fulfill all of those suppressed desires. Perhaps it was for the best, though. Shepard didn't need any more distractions to carry with her through the relay.

She sat at her desk, flicking idly through unanswered email. She thought that perhaps she should respond to some of them, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. Instead, she was content to merely read through them, tiny reminders that there were people who had connected with her, even in some small way. Even if she and her crew all died, maybe someone would remember her.

And, as if her thoughts weren't dark enough, she inevitably lighted upon Kaidan's email.

He hadn't responded to her. She wondered if he knew what she was about to do. It was silly—of course he didn't. How could he? She amused herself with the thought that if he did, surely he would have contacted her somehow, if only to say good luck or be safe, or some other idiotic platitude that people gave when they didn't know what else to do.

Shepard flicked her gaze over to stare at his picture—still smiling at her from the corner of her desk. She felt strange about the entire situation; she wanted to move forward with Thane, but there was a picture of another man on her desk. It was awkward. She leaned forward, elbows on her desk, hands lightly clasped together, and regarded the man who she had thought she might spend the rest of her life with—or at least a good chunk of it. Now, it seemed that their night before Ilos was the only real thing they had together. Shepard frowned. He should be with her.

It wasn't that she wanted him to change. It wasn't that she wanted him to be happy about or even accept that she was with Cerberus. But she did want him to care enough about her to at least support her when she faced a likely death. Shepard didn't deserve to be alone—she had already died once, alone and terrified, and she didn't particularly wish to repeat the experience.

She felt her mouth harden into a thin line, and with one swift movement, she flipped the holo face down on her desk. She deserved his attention. Anyone who truly cared for her would not abandon her like he did. How long was she supposed to wait for him to come to terms with her decisions? How long was she supposed to make excuses for his absence? It was ridiculous. She would wait no longer.

But, turning the picture face down did not change the fact that she was still alone in her cabin. For one indulgent moment, she allowed self-pity to wash over her.

Even Thane had left her.

She shook her head, disgusted at her own thoughts. How must he be feeling? Was he trying to contact Kolyat? Was he consumed with regret, reliving memories of his destroyed family? He could be wrapped up in his own private hell at this very moment—at least she went into battle carrying few regrets; she had long ago come to terms with the fact that she couldn't have saved her family or her squad members on Akuze. But she knew that Thane still blamed himself for what had happened to his wife and son.

Should she leave him to it? Did he really want to be alone, or was he wishing—just like she was with him—that she would seek him out? It was a painful thing, at times, to be locked inside one's own head, confused and blinded to the wishes and desires of those around you. She could leave him to his thoughts, let him come to her if that's what he really wished, or she could just...

She pushed herself away from the table, standing up and turning toward the door. Damn her insecurities. Shepard had learned long ago to never enter a battle with 'what ifs' pinging about in her head if she could help it, and on the eve of a suicide mission, she certainly wasn't going to give in to her neuroses. If she wanted to see Thane, then—dammit—she would see him.

But before she could even take a step toward her door, it opened, and the very man on her thoughts came striding in, as purposeful and desperate as she herself was only a few days ago when she came to see him regarding her decision with the geth. She knew immediately that something weighed heavily on his mind—his eyes flicked to her before casting themselves to the ground. He never fled her gaze unless something was wrong.

"Thane..." She intended to meet him halfway, but he strode past her to pace near her bed, leaving her to trail in his wake.

She had felt his tension before, but this was something different. "Siha, I..." His eye ridges knitted together, and he let out a soft, high trill that colored the air with despair before he continued. "I have known I will die for many years." It seemed that just avoiding her eyes was no longer enough, and he turned away from her; she knew without looking that his hands were twisting together, at times flashing the inside of a bare wrist—she could hear the scales rub against each other.

Now that he had escaped her eyes—she never thought that her gaze might be just as encroaching as his was—the words seemed to tumble out of him. "I have tried to leave the galaxy better than I found it. You've helped me achieve more than I thought possible. We've righted many wrongs. I've spoken to my son. I should be at peace on the eve of battle."

Unspoken was the thought that it was because of her, that peace evaded him. Part of her was thrilled at the thought that he no longer felt that there was nothing else for him to live for—Kolyat deserved more than a father who made a brief appearance and then slipped quietly into death, and she... she wanted to show him that there was more to life than the finality of its end. He knew he was dying—but weren't they all? In their line of work, any mission could mean death—a simple mercenary raid could end with her gasping her last on a dirty, cold warehouse floor, left forever on some foreign, hostile moon. Precisely because life could end tomorrow, they had to act as if they would live forever; they had to prevent death from casting a pall on life.

His preoccupation with his fate troubled her—his words carried a sense of preparation, as if he had turned them over and over in his head, examining them from every facet before giving them to her. She pulled him to face her, twining a hand with his. He had that far away look in his eyes that he got when he was reliving memories, but they were not pleasant—his brows were furrowed, his mouth set with anguish. He was trapped in his own private hell, and she had to pull him out. She wouldn't let him torture himself like this. "Stop. Don't give me a speech. You don't have to be alone in this."

He finally met her eyes, murmuring, "I'm... ashamed." Such vulnerability in that one small statement.

Her heart ached for him; she felt the loneliness and isolation in his confession, and tears pricked her eyes. "Why, Thane?" She whispered. "What is there to be ashamed of?" She laid her hand against his cheek, hoping to draw him closer to her, but he flinched away as if her touch burned him, pushing her hand aside.

Thane turned away from her to lean against the small table along her wall. His back, usually a long, straight line, was hunched, shoulders tense, and a fine shudder went through him—she wanted to wrap her arms around him, draw his sorrow from his form and take it into herself. Shepard took one step toward him when he let out a sudden snarl, slamming the desk with one fist, making her stop in her tracks, surprised. "I have worked so hard. Meditated and prayed and done good deeds. Atoned for the evils I've done. Prepared." His voice was rougher than usual, and Shepard realized with a shock that he spoke through tears.

"I consider my body's death, and a chill settles in my gut." She would not let him go through this alone—she could not. She wrapped her hand over his trembling fist, refusing to allow him to push her away again. "I am afraid," his voice came to her small and quiet and heavy with self-loathing, "...and it shames me."

"Thane..." He was not afraid of death—he was afraid of loss. For the first time in a long time, they both had something to lose. She had been so consumed with her own fractured self that she didn't see how their scars mirrored each other. Both of them were broken, but perhaps they were wrong in thinking that it was a burden that they had to carry alone—she realized guiltily that while she had poured herself out to him, she had rarely given him time to do the same. It was a burden that they had to be willing to share between them, and Shepard knew now, more than ever, that this was what she wanted. Thane made her happy. She wanted to make him happy. They would never be 'normal'—not like she and Kaidan would have been—but she didn't care. She was creating her own definition of normal.

She pulled him toward her, laying her hand against his cheek once more, but this time Thane didn't stop her. He gave her a fearful look, as if he was preparing himself for her rejection—she wondered what sort of people he had in his life that would punish him for revealing his vulnerability, and she felt a sharp sting of sorrow when she thought about how he expected the same from her.

"You're not alone in this fear, you know. I... I'm afraid too. But..." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "The reason I'm afraid isn't because I might die. It's because I have you, because now that you're with me I have so much to live for, so much I want..." She shook her head. "Death has no place here, not with us. Not now."

His eyelids flicked, expression softening at her words. She ran her thumb through the wet track of tears glistening on his cheek. There were so many more things she wanted to say, more words of comfort running through her head, but what finally came out was simple: "Be alive with me tonight."

His eyes widened; perhaps he was shocked, confused, relieved… she didn't know. His mouth parted to say something, but all she could hear was the low rumble that vibrated his chest, all she could feel was his warm breath on her skin, and then her lips were on his.

Her first thought was how soft and warm they were, so pliant against her mouth, even as Thane stiffened against her for a moment— obviously shocked— but as always, he recovered quickly. He leaned into the kiss with a ferocity that surprised her, tangling one hand in her hair before trailing it down her neck, while letting the other hand ghost down past the small of her back to pull her flush against him.

She slid her tongue along his lips, and he opened his mouth to her, filling her senses with the intoxicating taste of cinnamon and ginger, sweet and spicy and—God, the man could kiss. A white-hot line of electricity sparked from her lips to between her legs; it was intense, overwhelming. His leather left so little to the imagination—she could already feel him through it—and the knowledge that he was just as consumed with desire as she was forced a whimper out of her throat.

At the small sound, Thane—to her dismay—pulled back, staring at her with eyes that were far too large and dark. "I've... Siha, I've... you..." He fumbled with his words, as if worried that he might have displeased her.

Shepard smiled, caressing those ruby folds at his neck. "Oh, believe me, you want me to make those noises." He let out a low moan of his own at her touch—her tongue flicked out to wet her lips at the sound—and he shuddered, eyes fluttering closed.

She kissed him lightly again, suddenly shy, wondering what to do next. She desperately wished she had done more than blush and quickly close the email that Mordin had sent—what if she couldn't please him, what if it was all awkwardness and confusion...?

But then his fingers lightly trailed up and down her throat, and suddenly she didn't have to wonder what to do next because his lips followed them.

Shepard was relieved that one strong arm was wrapped around her waist, because his slow, delicate kisses and nibbles along the column of her neck made her weak in the knees. He drew out small gasps and mewls, and he answered her cries by humming along her throat, making her skin tingle where he touched her. She wanted, needed, to feel more of him, and she tugged ineffectually at the buckles on his jacket. "Mmm, Thane... off." Apparently she was as eloquent as he was.

She felt him smile against her skin, and he pulled back, one hand beginning to unfasten his jacket and vest. "Is this what you want, siha?"

At her nod, he released her to shrug out of his leathers, and she stumbled back to sit on her bed—she had seen him without his jacket only once before, but their sparring session seemed like a lifetime ago. She had thought him beautiful then, but she had never entertained the thought of tracing each one of those dark stripes with her tongue, feeling him writhe underneath her.

He stood uncertainly before her, one hand coming up to grip his elbow. "I... erm." His frill turned a deep red.

A man that built should never be uneasy with himself. Shepard felt her small smile turn almost predatory, and a tiny part of her wanted to be embarrassed by that. She held out her hand to him, pulling him toward her. Words were unnecessary when she nuzzled her cheek against the flat planes of his stomach, kissing along one stripe to where it disappeared into his pants. She feathered her fingers over his lower back, and he let out a sharp hiss, slender hips jerking toward her.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, cradling her cheek with his other hand. "Ah, you have me at a disadvantage." His voice was rough, dark, and he tugged at her sleeve. "...Off?"

She let out a giggle—she never giggled—and grasped the hem of her shirt with both hands, pulling it over her head. Before she could lose her nerve, she unhooked her bra as well, tossing both of them aside. And then... there she was. Pink and white and decidedly not scaly. She folded her hands in her lap at first, determined to look anywhere but Thane's face, and then that wasn't enough, and she crossed her arms firmly over her chest. She knew one thing about drell females, and that one thing was that they didn't have breasts. She had never realized until that moment how incredibly weird breasts were.

She felt Thane kneel before her, and he gently tugged at her arms until they loosened. She stared the floor, and he bent down, craning his head at an odd angle so he could look into her eyes, making her smile despite herself. "I enjoy this soft pink color you turn when you are embarrassed, but you need not do so now." He captured her lips with his, murmuring into her mouth, "You are beautiful to me."

She let herself be pushed down onto the bed, and Thane hovered above her, teasing her neck again with his teeth and tongue before he traveled down and did the same to her breasts. His touch was tentative at first, and when she quivered under him, he pulled away, fixing her with a concerned gaze. "Is this... do you like...?"

Shepard gave him a grin that she knew was a little goofy—she couldn't help thinking about him studying the videos Mordin sent oh so carefully; it was the only way he'd have known what to do with her strange anatomy. "Don't you dare stop." His smile was delightfully wicked as he bent down with renewed confidence, proving once again that he was a very quick learner.

She arched underneath him, his name soft on her lips, and he rolled his eyes up to look at her. More than anything in the world she wanted his memory in order to forever capture that single look on his face, for she knew in that moment that he didn't just care for her...

...He loved her.

A sobbing gasp ripped its way out of her throat, and she pulled him up to kiss him, tongue slipping between his lips as she tried her hardest to drink him in, sliding hot fingers along the dark folds at his neck.

She whispered his name again and again, hooking her legs around his waist and grinding herself into him; he snapped his hips back, growling into her mouth. They were wearing too many clothes—both of them seemed to realize this at once—and with a few frantic movements, and a couple of hushed laughs, there was nothing between them anymore. Gone was the embarrassment, gone was the hesitation, and when he buried himself inside of her, nothing had ever been so perfect.

He didn't sweat like she did. She looked down at the two of them—legs tangled together with the bed sheet wound between them, her arm flung haphazardly across his chest, his hand stroking absentmindedly along her neck. She felt the light sheen of sweat cooling on her skin, but he was warm, dry, his even breathing stirring her hair ever so slightly. He looked so strange next to her—emerald skin striking against her own, black stripes winding their way along his body. His throat thrummed, expanding and contracting as he crooned some low song to her.

He was beautiful.

Her skin ached where he had rubbed against her, an angry red showing up against her pale flesh, but she loved it—it was his mark on her, and some part of her wished it could be there forever. So many thoughts tumbled in her head—she wanted to show him so many things. She could take him to Mindoir, show him what it felt like to run his hands along the feathery tops of the ripened wheat, show him all of her secret places that she had discovered as a child—the hidden waterfalls, sunken grottoes. They could go to a desert—it didn't matter where—and spend hours soaking up the sun, breathing in the dry, hot air. She wanted him to take her to Kahje, Rakhana; she could see the watery world that had come to mean so much to him and the arid world that held all of his old gods. She wanted them to read books together, listen to music together, share everything about each others' culture and then create their own strange hybrid of the two that was uniquely theirs.

She let out a long, contented sigh, and Thane hugged her closer to him, her name a breathy whisper on his lips. The past was a heavy thing—they each dragged it behind them, an impossible weight to carry. She knew they didn't have much time. It didn't matter. They couldn't dwell on it, couldn't let it color their decisions, their dreams and desires. Her past—their past—would not control their present, nor would tomorrow's imagined sorrow. Whatever loss may happen in the future, she had him in her arms now, and that was more than enough recompense.

A/N: And that, my friends, is the end. I hope you enjoyed it! Stay tuned for a new story-this time parked in Thane's little head. We'll be exploring their romance from the drell's point of view; with luck you'll enjoy it just as much as this one.

So, thanks to all of you for reading, and the BIGGEST THANKS OF ALL to my wonderful beta-she is just such a delight. :D