A/N: Please be aware that this chapter, toward the end, edges a bit into an M rating. Nothing too explicit, but there you go.

"Be alive with me tonight."

Shepard's words echoed through his head, became a kind of mantra he chanted under his breath with each life that he took. Things had moved quickly since their night together, shooting through the Omega relay, fighting off Collector defenses, and making a rather ungraceful landing on the Collector base itself. And now Thane clutched his weapon in his hand, running alongside Shepard as they forged ahead deeper into the base, but with each step he took...

"Be alive with me tonight."

Such simple words, but they had been a prelude to something so much deeper, more complex, more meaningful, than anything he had ever experienced. He suppressed the vivid – oh so very, very vivid – memories in the interests of focusing on the battle at hand, but that phrase lingered still in his ears, on his lips. It was an entreaty, a declaration of love, an absolution of the guilt and anger that had seemed heavy enough to crush him. And now, in the heat of a firefight, it was a paean to life itself, to the decision to fight for more than just an honorable death.

The life he lived now and the pale imitation of life that he had mocked the gods with before he had met Shepard were a stark contrast in his head. His blood sang with his newly found purpose, with the unfettered joy and ecstasy he found in knowing that he was alive.

Life meant so much more than simply moving through the day, mechanically eating, drinking, completing assignments. He had thought that his purpose extended to nothing else, and now... He looked to his siha, her countenance brilliant with ferocity, jaw set, kelp eyes flashing as her biotics crackled around her. He had found what it meant to be alive last night, with her, in her arms. They had held each other close, had breathed each others' breath, tasted it on their tongues...

But she roused him in different ways as well.

And those ways came in the form of the singing heat coursing through his body as he crushed their enemies, his mouth no longer set in the cold impassivity that had adorned it for the last ten years, but his lips curled into a snarl, his throat humming with rough growls, his body moving even faster than normal as he rediscovered his delight in the hunt, the kill... and it was because now he did it for something not abstract—not as distant and removed as bringing light to the galaxy. It had been a noble calling, but it was one that was disconnected from people themselves. No, now he fought for something very real, very tangible...

His siha.

He fought to protect her, with everything that he was. He fought to protect those she loved, the crew of the Normandy, her family. He fought to protect his son, so compassionate, so generous, letting Thane close to him again after suffering through pain and neglect for so many years.

Thane had a second chance.

And he fought for that, perhaps most of all, his body tightly coiled, strength and power running unchecked. Every shot that left his rifle jolted through his body, drawing forth a low, rough groan, sounds that were matched by Shepard's cries, high and wild as she fought at his side, their biotics crackling together, singeing the air with eezo.

The Harbinger focused its attentions on Shepard, so Thane focused his attentions on it, slamming a biotic field into it, following that up with a rifle shot. It dissolved in the dank air, and Shepard caught his eye, mouth pulling up into a fierce grin, and he rumbled back, kneeling down into cover beside her. Her body was almost distracting next to his, so warm and alive, vibrating with violent energy. Thane couldn't help looking over to her, the tiny bits of exposed skin spattered with the blood of the fallen—he could smell her own blood close to the surface of her skin, her pulse hot and jumping, her breath coming in short, gasping pants.

What focused him, though, was her voice, low and urgent as she shouted her orders, but such words were not even necessary. Thane felt like he was attuned to her, as if her thoughts were his, as if she had merely to think of something and he would know, obey, carry out whatever his siha wished of him.

They slaughtered their enemies, all three of them syncing like they never had before, Thane and Garrus mere extensions of Shepard's arm. He felled enemy after enemy, retaliating almost viciously—another symptom of his new, tingling appreciation for living—against those who dared raise arms against his siha. The goal was to protect her as she took her shots against the fledgling Reaper, and he poured everything he was into that one goal.

The Reaper hovered over them like a physical manifestation of death, and Thane fought harder under its gaze, feeling as if he was working against so much more than the mere enemies before him. Things felt large, epic, symbolic, with his siha and himself burning with life and battle and light, almost poetically juxtaposed with the infant Reaper. He felt a hatred toward it that was almost illogical in its intensity—this thing that tried to blot out light with its darkness, that tried to take away all that he and Shepard worked so hard to preserve. It somehow spurred Thane on even more—he thought that he had reached the apex of his capability, but such a tangible symbol of void and death drove him to fight harder, stronger.

And it seemed to affect his siha in the same way.

Shepard was a constant presence next to him, a hot line against his side, and as Thane fired, he was always aware of her, her scent salting the air. Her mouth was curled into a snarl, her tiny white teeth flashing. She lifted foes into the air; Thane threw an arcing warp field to send them flying. Everything was perfect, as if they inhabited the same bodies, possessed the same thoughts. Their biotics tingled, sparking where they came into contact with each other, mixing together so that he felt her, spicy and intense. He could feel the singe of her crackling storms of electricity marching up his spine; like tiny mouths, they latched onto his frill, and he blew out a thrumming growl, slamming the butt of his rifle in a husk that dared to get too close.

His siha lurched into him, pulling him out of the way of another enemy as she fired at the offending husk behind him, spots of warmth decorating Thane's back. The force of their bodies together made her stumble, leaning against the lip of their cover. Thane moved to stand behind her, stance wide, pressed against her, and he fired over her head as she moved underneath him, her hips rocking back into him as she regained her balance. Such a tiny movement, but Thane had to restrain himself from rolling his hips into her, from trailing fingers stained with blood, sizzling blue, down her back, see her arch underneath him. She looked back at him, eyes bright with heat, and turned, sinking down to her knees, her hands on his thighs, steadying her.

Thane rumbled, that sound saying more than words could, and he spared a moment wishing that she knew what it meant as he knelt next to her. Shepard licked coral lips, her eyes claiming every inch of his body, before mounting her heavy weapon on her shoulder and firing it at the exposed weak points of the fledgling Reaper. The heat from the explosion washed over him, and he prepared himself for the next wave of enemies.

The battle was almost too easy.

The Reaper fell, and Shepard, moving quickly, efficiently, effortlessly, started setting up the bomb that would destroy the base. Thane hovered over her, a silent protector to a siha who needed no protecting, but he did it anyway merely because it made him feel better. Things seemed to progress smoothly, though, and Thane thought they were nearly clear, when, of course, the gods chose to throw something else at them.

Joker informed them of the Illusive Man wishing to speak with Shepard, and Thane activated his omnitool to accept the feed, freeing his siha to continue her work on the explosives.

Thane had never trusted that human, with his mechanical eyes always whirring and moving and recording. It unnerved him, and seeing him now, trying to convince Shepard to preserve this blot of darkness for his own twisted gains, made Thane want to cut the feed immediately.

The human's voice was smooth, cultured, cloying, and he tried at first appealing to Shepard's ultimate goals: wouldn't this technology help them defeat the Reapers? But Shepard coolly deflected him, bringing a smile to Thane's face as she explained that she would not give into fear, that she would not allow her desire to defeat the Reapers make her compromise who she was.

This was his siha.

Adhering fiercely to her morals, she never allowed herself to be swayed. She agonized over decisions that she had made, wondering if they were the right ones, wondering if she had followed that code of ethics she had set out for herself. Thane remembered her tears at what she had done in the geth base, how she had hated herself for making the decision she knew had to be made. It was one of the things he loved about her, that constant introspection, that constant evaluation. In her position, one might argue that it would be more beneficial for her to simply get the job done, to not worry about extraneous details, morals that either didn't affect the mission or perhaps even interfered with its completion. But that had never been the way Thane had operated, and Shepard seemed to be cast from the same mould.

Once the Illusive Man had discovered that his tactic wouldn't work, he switched to a more desperate line of argument, trying to sway her with the fact that she owed Cerberus, that it was only because of them that she had returned, and...

Shepard caught Thane's eye, a subtle shake of her head. Thane rumbled his approval and closed the call, cutting the human off in mid-sentence.

"Haven't done that since the days when you worked for the Council." Garrus quipped, and Shepard smirked.

"Never as satisfying as right now." But then she was all business once more, her form straightening, and Thane snapped to attention. "We'll set this off remotely. Let's start getting back to the Normandy..."

But no sooner had she said that then a loud, groaning sound of metal on metal proved that the battle was not yet over. Her orders changed from moving toward their escape to getting into cover, and Thane and Garrus obeyed, readying their weapons once again for another wave of enemies.

At this point, it almost seemed laughable, a last ditch effort by the Reaper fetus and its drone protectors. The Harbinger, in the face of Shepard's irrepressible light and strength, seemed weak and ineffective. Thane basked in her power, in the way she scented the air with violence and destruction; he wanted to taste it, stick his tongue out and taste that scent, and then lean over and lick a line up her throat, at the source. To taste her sweat, taste the blood of their foes, bite down and taste her...

But the battle was over almost as soon as it had begun, and a moment of fierce exhilaration washed over Thane as the Reaper finally tumbled to its demise, surely not able to rise a third time after Shepard put it down once again.

Yet even as they turned to try to escape, the platforms they were on veered wildly to one side, bucking and lurching, and Thane reached out for his siha to steady her, trying to keep his own balance, but...

He fell.

And all at once he was sliding, sliding, unable to catch anything to hold onto, seeing the end rush up on him like an unstoppable wave. He... he...

Memories suddenly washed over him.

I am ashamed by my tears, breaking down in front of her like a child, someone as strong as her, as faultless as her. And I bare my flaws, my weaknesses, and it shames me. But there is nothing I can do, frightened as I am, terrified of losing her, of dying myself. It doesn't make sense, and I try to explain this to her, tell her how much she has helped me, how much she has awakened me. Her hand lands on my frill, and I cannot accept her touch, not yet. She doesn't know the meaning behind what she does.

The brush of Shepard's lips against mine is a complete shock—I nearly step away from her in surprise, completely thrown off by her actions despite the fact that she is doing exactly what I have longed to do for days.

But any confusion passes quickly.

I lean into her, something akin to a growl forced from my throat, claiming her lips for my own. I pull her closer, cannot pull her close enough, and I run my fingers through her fiery hair, something I have longed to do again for far too long, before finally allowing myself to touch that slender throat of hers, delicately patterned soft skin against my roughened fingers, and I can feel her pulse jump underneath my touch.

Her taste is something sweet and salty all at once-she reminds me of ripened seaberries, a light sea spray clinging in dewy droplets along its reddened flesh, and even if I wanted to try, I could not stop myself from moaning into her mouth, feeling my blood quicken with desire. She is pressed against me, and oh gods, the rounded curves of her body, the softness of her skin, nearly drives me wild with need.

He caught the edge of a lip, scrabbled on with his fingers, but then momentum carried him away, and he barely registered the pain of one of his fingernails nearly ripping away in his mounting panic to grab a hold of something. Even as he saw the yawning chasm loom ever closer, his mind shoved images from last night at him, and Thane was suddenly painfully aware that this was, in effect, his life flashing before his eyes, the last set of memories his mind chose to showcase before he died...

And he reeled in the grip of yet another one.

She makes little, low sounds, small whimpers, and they bring me back to myself-I pull back to look at her, suddenly worried that perhaps I am not doing well, perhaps I am not pleasing her. We are so very different, and I am anxious with the thought that this won't work, that I will be too strange for her to deal with. My words are halting, hesitating, but she smiles at me, her voice coming soft and full, and she trails pale fingers down my throat, the splash of luminescence startling against my crimson. Her touch is intimate and shocking, and it forces a needy sound from my mouth-it has been so long since I have been caressed in such a way. I feel myself nearly melt against her, and a distant part of me might be embarrassed by how pliant I am under her fingertips, but I cannot bring myself to care.

And then she hesitates, and I realize that she is just as nervous as I am, just as unsure if she is doing the right thing. But there is one thing that I know she will like, that I will like too, and I bend my head to her throat, planting open-mouthed kisses along her pulse, feeling myself shiver with the pleasure of finally being able to taste her there, nibble at her tender skin, trace thin scars with my tongue.

She cries out in my arms, pressing herself ever firmer against me, and I hum back, crooning my adoration for her as she tilts her head back further, baring herself to me.

What were the gods doing to him? Why were they choosing to torment him like this? Hadn't he been good? Hadn't he atoned? They had set Shepard before his eyes, made him think first that she might be his, then that she wasn't, and then that she was, and now he was about to die. It felt immeasurably cruel. He understood why they took Irikah away from him, understood its punishment, but now? Arashu help him, now?

I feel my heart swell for her, this fierce human woman who has allowed me to lavish such attentions on her, and I become a little more insistent in my movements, my hand tightening along her waist, gripping her, sliding my hand under her shirt to feel her softly patterned skin. I nip at her now, a prelude to what I want to do, claim her, mark her, her wild pulse dancing on my tongue, her cries spurring me on.

She runs her own hands up my belly, up my chest, tugs at my jacket. "Off," she commands. And what shall I do but obey her? I smile against her skin, inhaling her sweet, salty scent, and begin undoing the clasps, sliding my jacket off of my shoulders, letting it land in a messy heap on the floor. My vest is next, and I hear her breath hitch in her throat as I finally bare my chest to her.

And suddenly I am nervous.

Again with the anxiety. I do not have her features though, the hair, the nipples, anything of the sort. My upper body is smooth and scaled, planes of dark green interrupted by speckles and stripes—nothing like her monochrome body.

Yes, she has seen me before. Memories of her panting form are close behind my eyes, the feel of her on my scales innocuous at the time but almost tormenting now. But that was a different context—and now...

Thane saw Shepard dive after him, and if he wasn't currently trying to stave off panic, he would have shouted at her to stop, to not throw herself in more danger, that he wasn't worth it...

She pulls me forward, rubs her soft cheek over my stomach, and something like a ragged purr tears its way out my throat, my fears gone with that simple touch. The thought of her so... close... She kisses down, down, down, stops right above the waistband of my pants, and I am so incredibly excited by the thought of her continuing, of undoing the buttons on my strained trousers, taking me in her mouth...

She feathers soft fingers along the small of my back, and my hips jerk toward her of their own volition, a gasping shiver running through me. Tangling my hand in her hair, slipping the soft, garnet strands through my fingers, I look down at her, her pale face turned up toward me, her lips shining and parted, her kelp eyes locking with mine.

She is beautiful.

Her hand is stretched out to catch him, and he reaches for her, automatically, instinctively, even as he fears them both going over. Who is he that she should endanger herself? Shepard, the only person strong enough to stand between the galaxy and darkness, risking her light to save him... If he didn't think that the gods were punishing him, he would see her as the hand of Arashu Herself...

And I want to see her, as she has seen me, kiss her as she has kissed me, and I bring my other hand up to mimic her earlier actions, tugging at her sleeve. "Off?" I whisper, a dark chuckle edging my words.

And she laughs too, a high tinkling like glass bells, and pulls her shirt off over her head, unhooks the garment adorning her breasts, and I get the barest glimpse of her before she crosses her arms over her chest, avoiding my eyes. She is as nervous as I was, and I croon low, soothingly, kneeling before her.

I duck my head to catch her green gaze, and she smiles, her coral lips tugged up almost against her will it seems, as if she wants to frown but cannot. I smile back at her, feeling my heart almost ache for how much I love her, how much I want to please her.

Her skin, pink and soft with her embarrassment, is something beautiful, warm like a sunset, and I tell her so, admiring her beauty, her delicate coloring. I thought her monochrome before, but I forcibly remind myself that she is not, changing colors as she does, and I gently pull her arms away from her chest, capturing her lips once again with mine. It is something I cannot get enough of—kissing her—and some part of me is convinced that if I could spend the rest of my days locked in her embrace, I could want for nothing else.

Their hands brush each other, and for a moment, just a moment, he feels the tender, sweet skin of her wrist, the wild pulse there, and if he really does have to die here, in this base, he counts himself blessed that he gets to touch her soft skin one last time.

Her lips are so soft and pliant against mine, and she sighs as I lower her to the bed. I hold myself over her on my elbows, trailing my mouth down her jaw, along her neck, worshiping her as is her due, as my siha.

Her breasts, soft and full and strange to me, me who has never been with anyone except my own kind, swell under my mouth, and I pull back a bit to look at them properly now, memorizing their curve, trailing a hand over one, then the other. She gasps at my touch, squirms as I get closer to one of her pink nipples—it seems that is the color that interrupts her pale sand skin all over, that blushing coral—and I am taken in by the strange texture, the way in which such a simple, innocent touch can arouse such a strong reaction.

Hesitantly, tentatively, I lower my mouth to her, running my tongue over her, and her nipple hardens—another odd reaction. She gasps and arches underneath me, and I look up at her, thinking, hoping that is a positive reaction, but unsure.

Her smile is something lopsided and almost drunk, and she orders me not to stop.

And who am I to disobey?

The brief moment that their hands touch, that he thinks she might pull him back, succeed, ends in a heartbeat, and he is still tumbling down, she is still tumbling after him. Would the gods really be so cruel as to make him watch her die? He had not seen Irikah, seen her cry out in pain, no doubt crying out for him, for him to save her. He had only seen the aftermath, and that had broken him in ways that still were not totally healed. Was he not punished enough? This time, would the gods make him watch?

I tug at her breasts with my lips, kissing them, suckling on them, whatever pulls a more eager response from the woman writhing under me. The hand not propping me up sneaks down between her legs, and I feel her heat there, her wet arousal, and I press my fingers into her center, caressing her through the cloth. The startled groan that comes from her makes me roll my hips into her, my own arousal heavy against her leg, and she rocks into my hand, silently asking for more.

What did I do to deserve this?

This strong, fierce woman beneath me, unstoppable, an unfathomable, almost natural force, and she allows me to be with her, to touch her. There, surely, are any number of men and women who would gladly warm her bed, and she has chosen me.

The crooning rumble that vibrates my throat is something that I wish she could hear in its entirety, and as I cast my eyes back up at her, I almost say it, almost put into words what the purr in my chest would have already told another drell, but...

...I cannot.

And I am not certain why I hesitate to tell her that I love her, adore her, worship her, other than I think she might... what if she does not feel the same?

But, an odd look crosses her face as her eyes lock with mine, and a whimpering gasp leaves her mouth as she pulls me back up to her, kissing me deeply, sliding her small tongue in my mouth, and I groan my approval, feeling as if time itself has stopped as she kisses me.

He knows her by now, knows that she approaches her duties with the irrepressible idea that she can save everyone. And that is simply not the case. If he could tell her, he would do so. Tell her that she is strong, beautiful, capable, intelligent, but... as he had learned long ago, no matter what one does... not everyone can be saved. If the gods are taking him now, not even her status as Arashu's own could allow her to intervene.

She wraps her strong thighs around my slender hips, pressing her heat against me, forcing an almost feral growl from my mouth as I snap my hips back into hers. Her fingers slide down my throat; she grinds against me, and the absolute unfettered need to be inside of her is almost painful in its intensity.

I hook my fingers in the waistband of her pants, my mouth never leaving hers, and I undo the fastenings there, pulling down her zipper, a part of me almost recoiling at how brazen I am, but she mimics me, attacking my own pants, slipping her hand inside and gripping me firmly.

I have to pull away from her mouth then to release a ragged moan, my eyes shut tightly as her small, soft hand works its way up and down my length. She lingers on the ridges, pressing, caressing, and I am held in place, trembling above her. It is almost too much; I am panting, growling, whispering things that make no sense, but I do not care.

I want... I want to do the same for her, and I work my own hand inside her trousers, sliding under her layers of clothing, brushing fingers over the wet curls I find there, and finally dipping my fused fingers between her folds, the heat, the scent, the way she cries out, all combining to drive a strangled moan from my throat.

She tugs at my pants, trying to pull them off of my hips, and I nearly laugh at her urgency, at the way her brow furrows in concentration, elated by the simple fact that she wants me just as much as I want her.

I back off of the bed, sliding my pants off of my hips, down my legs, stepping out of them to tug on the hem of her pants at her ankles, pulling off her shoes, trying to get her to do the same as I did. She laughs, so free and filled with joy, and I cannot help but join her, low chuckles of my own rumbling my chest as she lifts her hips to tug her pants off, tossing them to the side.

And then... there we are.

He is getting what he wants. Hadn't he said that he didn't want to die in a hospital? Hooked up to machines? He is dying in battle like he had prayed to be allowed to do. But... gods... he doesn't want this anymore. Not now, not when he has rediscovered a purpose. He had promised Kolyat he would return. He had so much more he wanted to tell his son, so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to share. He had wanted to be there when Kolyat had a child of his own, wanted to hold that baby in his arms, see Irikah in the tiny features, mixed in with his son and his chosen wife. He had wanted them to be a family again...

Both exposed, both vulnerable, and I crawl hesitantly back on the bed. Hovering over her, I lock eyes with her, my siha, her bright, beautiful gaze so arresting and distracting that I feel myself nearly drowning, held there by her. She whispers my name, never have I heard a sweeter sound, and her hand cups my cheek, brings me down so that she can capture my mouth with hers.

Ah, gods help me, but I am taken with her, the way her body rolls into mine, the way her soft pink tongue slips through my lips, the way she moans my name into my mouth. I run my hand down her strong thigh, gripping her, bringing her leg up to rest on my hip, and when she bucks against me, I inadvertently come into contact with her hot center. We both gasp; she bites her lip. "Siha..." I breathe, wanting to... but unsure... Never have I been this uncertain, so afraid of displeasing her.

But she pleads, rocking into me again, and I submit with a sigh, working my way into her, the feel of her gripping me, of her whimpering, mewling sounds as I sink into her burned forever into my mind. She is...

...Gods...

I am panting by the time I bury myself completely in her tight heat, my mind nearly delirious with how good this feels, how heartrendingly beautiful she looks, her mouth wet and parted, the little gasps and moans falling from her, the way her pulse jumps under her skin, glistening with a slight sheen of sweat.

I lick her neck as I begin to move, murmuring against her, words of adoration, of reverence, my siha, my angel, my goddess. Sometimes I think I am speaking too low for her; can she hear me or does she only feel the vibrations of my declarations?

It doesn't matter; she urges me to go faster, and what can I do but comply, her every wish, every desire the only thing that motivates me, the only thing for which my heart still beats.

But it isn't only Kolyat that made his heart beat now. It is Shepard, his siha. For so long, Thane had thought he was unworthy of love, of life, of happiness. Shepard showed him otherwise, opened his eyes again, quickened his blood. For the gods to take this away now... He feels a surge of anger at the gods, for tormenting him far more than any mortal should be punished, for allowing him to love again, and then ripping it away from him. Why didn't he tell her that he loved her? Why didn't he take the chance while they were in bed, wrapped around each other, cradling each other in their arms... She should know, she should know that he loved her, he should have said it more than once—in her embrace, still inside of her; in her ear as they held each other after. He should have pulled her to him before they boarded the Mako, should have murmured his love for her into her throat. He should have told her. Another regret, another one. Oh, Arashu...

She is crying out under me, meeting my every thrust with one of her own, and I seek out her hand, threading our mismatched fingers together, needing to hold onto her. I can feel myself losing control, reaching that brink, and I try to hold on for her, nipping at her throat, planting humming kisses across her hot, salted skin.

The edge is close, too close; he can't help crying out, warning Shepard away...

Her cries become more frantic; she hooks her legs around my waist, and lays her own hand against my frill, whispering words, little things, praising my body, encouraging me, saying how much she...

...Says something he can't catch, the look on her face is one of absolute determination, and he knows that she will not leave him, no matter how he begs her.

I think I hear her stutter out the word 'love', but then she is suddenly tightening around me, cresting, arching underneath me, and I am...

...Suspended in the air, for one terrifying moment he is weightless before he begins to fall.

I am undone.

The strangled shout that is wrenched from me resonates across several different frequencies, the parts that she cannot hear rumbling in my chest. My body moves of its own volition, trying to drive itself impossibly deeper within her, and I bury my face in her shoulder, right at the crook of her neck, my breath coming out in rasping croons.

Her hand.

Her grip is strong, endowed with strength that seems beyond even her, and he almost imagines he can see the fluttering robes of Arashu haloed around her. He looks up at her, her kelp eyes so bright, so fine.

His siha.

A/N:Well, then! Here we are! Done! Finally! Thank you so much for those of you who have stuck around to see the ending of this story. I know I made you wait far too long, but I do hope it was worth it.

This chapter, this story, wouldn't be in its current form without my dear beta. She is more than that to me; she is one of my dearest friends. I can't thank her enough. I wish I had the eloquence necessary to do so. She's guided me, saved me, and in this chapter, she not only salvaged it from utter crap, but she also contributed a few sentences in the fourth paragraph. You should be able to tell which are hers. They are much better than anything I can come up with. ^_^

I do plan on writing more, especially since ME3 broke my heart. Not sure when that will happen though. For now, I think I'll be taking a bit of a break, but I hope that when I do decide to take up the pen again, you'll be there with me too.