Thane rolled his shoulder, adjusting the fit of his jacket. It almost brought a smile to his lips as he remembered his siha using the exact same motion dozens of times in as many different situations. He had never given the familiar gesture much thought, but her shoulder must bother her a great deal to warrant so much attention. He put the thought aside, there was something important he had to do. He had arrived at the back door of Afterlife.

"You are the gatekeeper to what I am told is the best experience Afterlife has to offer, my friend," he said, approaching the turian bouncer standing before the doors to the VIP room.

"That's good information," the bouncer conversationally replied. "You should thank the person who gave you that tip. Got a name?"

"Jaruut," Thane answered, giving the password he had paid a shifty salarian for only hours ago.

The turian nodded, "Welcome, Sere. You look like you know how to handle yourself, but be warned– you start a fight, you'll leave bleeding if you're lucky."

"And if someone else starts something?" Thane enquired. Important information considering that Shepard was coming here to help the Justicar with her hunt. It was likely to turn violent.

The turian shrugged and stepped aside, "In that case I'd suggest you enjoy yourself."

"Thank you," Thane said, entering the exclusive area of the club. Music pulsed through the air and seemed to resonate in his bones. He scanned the club. Even for Omega, this crowd looked dangerous. There was little time– Shepard and Samara were likely right behind him. He needed to be out of sight before they entered the club. He reached out to gently grasp the shoulder of a passing waitress, immediately releasing her as she turned and scowled at him.

"Apologies. I require a drink," he explained, lifting a glass from her tray and presenting her with a credit chit that would have paid for ten of whatever he'd just helped himself to.

She glanced at the chit in her hand and tucked it away. "Let me know when you need another," she said before heading back to the bar to replace the drink for the order she was trying to fill.

He lifted the glass and let the liquor burn a path down his throat. It was good. Pity he wouldn't be drinking it. He couldn't hold the entire glass in his throat pouch, but it wouldn't be a problem– he only wanted to add a touch of realism to the illusion that he was here to enjoy himself. He found a table in a corner next to the dance floor that was relatively shadowed and had decent sight-lines.

Shepard allowing herself to be used as bait– as he was certain the Justicar intended– was nearly enough to bring his temper to a boil. A siha should not be used, and this one... Jane was in a fragile state. He would watch over her, and if that caused the Justicar's quarry to slip the trap, so be it.

As he waited, he reviewed the club's patrons, his eyes fixed to the undulating forms on the dance floor. He didn't notice when Shepard entered the VIP room, but her voice cut through the throbbing rhythms and grabbed his full attention.

"The lady asked you to step away," Jane said, her tone warning of violence. Thane glanced at the nearest bouncer, but he wasn't aware of the situation. That could work in Shepard's favor, or it could condemn her. Thane readied himself to spring into action.

"You want in on this transaction?" the drunk fool said to her. "Look, I don't care if it's you or this bitch– I just like good times," the turian said, brushing past the asari, purposefully reaching out for his siha. He rose without thinking, but before he'd traveled two steps, the turian's claws closed around her wrist. In a blur of motion, the fool's head snapped back– Shepard had struck him, and then against all logic, she managed to twist free and throw her assailant so he landed at the feet of the nearest bouncer, who had only just turned his head.

"Good times are over," Shepard smugly informed him, dusting her hands. The dancer waved, causing the bouncer to stand down.

"Thanks for that. Security was asleep," the asari bitterly muttered before hurrying off.

Thane corrected his course, diverting toward the dance floor. Shepard may notice him, but better her than others who would think it odd that he jumped from his seat, only to return to it moments later. The Justicar's hunt was not his top priority, but Jane would not forgive him easily if he made the task more difficult for her.

He wove his way sinuously through the dancers until he found an attractive couple– a human female and an asari. They smiled and shifted to make space for him. The human woman– barely more than a girl, really– boldly traced her hands over his body as they danced, and the asari encouraged her. He was vaguely aware of Shepard's movement throughout the club– she provoked a pair of turians into a fight, which ended swiftly and decisively in Shepard's favor.

"Where are you?" the girl dancing with him simpered. "Hey, I've heard about drell venom, can I...?"

"What you've heard can't compare with the truth," he answered, cupping her face and pressing his lips to hers. The asari scowled at him and he kissed the girl more deeply. Abruptly, he broke away and tilted his head, offering her access to his neck. "Go ahead," he invited, eager to end the interaction. The girl's cool tongue hesitantly flicked over the skin just under his fringe, sending a shiver of pleasure through him so he had to dismiss a memory of Jane doing the same.

"That isn't enough," he said, urging more contact. The girl pressed herself against him and dragged her teeth over his skin before placing a long, sucking kiss on his neck. Breathless with pleasure, he shoved her away. "Now, you should take her somewhere private and enjoy that with her," he advised the girl's partner before spinning away to dance alone.

He turned just in time to catch sight of Shepard once more as she approached the fringe of the dance floor and spoke to a clearly intoxicated asari. She began dancing and Thane found himself moving toward her, uncaring of the eyes that may be on him. The asari next to her moved closer, but Shepard backed away, almost appearing to lead some kind of chase. Thane reached them and stepped between them, his back to the asari. His eyes locked with Shepard's and he could tell she was angry, but she danced with him. He pulled her close, only to send her spinning away. His hands traced over her body, exploring the textures of the dress compared to her bare skin and silky hair. She pushed his hands away, but he caught her and pressed his lips to her ear, "Forgive me, Siha."

"For being here, for pawing at me like that in public, or for sucking face with some random bitch?" she hissed back.

"Yes," he said, tilting his head as he had done for a stranger so recently.

Shepard offered him a crooked smile. "Well, since everyone's doing it," she said before dragging her tongue along his fringe. He suppressed a rumble of pleasure, but before he could reply, she placed her palm on his chest and shoved him away, abandoning the dance floor. He couldn't follow her so he feigned indifference and moved closer to another human– this time a male. If anyone was watching him, he would give them a clear pattern to explain his actions. He tried not to think of Jane's reaction. He was hers. Nothing could threaten that. She must know he was only doing what he was required to in order to avoid sabotaging her mission.

As he continued to target the humans in the crowd, he tried to keep an eye on Shepard's movement. When he lost her, he returned to his table, which was miraculously still unoccupied. In an even greater stroke of luck, his table was within earshot of the booth Shepard had settled into with an engaging asari that bore a striking resemblance to Samara. Thane listened and wondered how much of what his Siha said as she spoke of primal urges, inner darkness and the intimacy of violence was true. More than she believes, less than her prey believes, he concluded.

When they left together, he followed. Samara, dramatically cloaked and hooded, intercepted him outside the club. "With me, assassin, or you'll cost me this opportunity to atone."

"How will we find them unless we hurry?" he demanded, fearing that he had already lost the trail.

"When they stop, Shepard's location will be simple to pinpoint. She need only resist Morinth for a few minutes, then I will end this."

"Give me the receiver codes. She'll be safer if we approach separately."

"Very well. Synch your omnitool to this," she said, removing her receiver piece. The operation was complete within moments and Shepard's voice began speaking in his ear.

"Thank you, Justicar. I doubt I need to express my distaste for the position you've put her in. I'm equally sure that should anything happen to her..." he trailed off, listening to the voices being transmitted from somewhere– somewhere close, but beyond his reach if he didn't know where.

Morinth spoke, voice tiny and muffled through the receiver, "Hallex. Go ahead and have one if you like, but wouldn't you prefer your senses to be clear and sharp right now? I do."

"Do not threaten me," Samara said, ignoring the transmitted conversation. "Should anything happen to Shepard, the responsibility for that will rest solely upon my shoulders. The weight would crush me, but it would be a lighter burden than allowing that monster to slip my grasp again. I have never gotten this close before. Attend to Shepard, I will resolve my personal business."

"Mental clarity is overrated," Shepard's voice argued. "Sometimes you have to let go of some of it in order to understand what's really going on."

"Why don't we have the coordinates yet?" Thane growled. "There's no telling what that poison will do to her and it will certainly make it more difficult for her to resist a mental attack."

"Patience. They are very close. She can hear the club's music from wherever they are and they walked. We will run."

Thane turned away, intending to track Shepard as far as he could on his own. He found the Justicar's company abrasive, and waiting might get Shepard killed. He stayed close to the club, moving in the direction he had last seen his siha headed. Morinth spoke of games and traps and violence and safety. Shepard's answers convinced him she had indulged in the offered drug, but he hoped it was an affectation.

When he reached a crossroads, he chose a path that didn't take him further from the club, and finally, his omnitool chimed, providing him with an address. It was close, but he was several levels below where he needed to be– above the club, not beside it– and he'd taken a wrong turn. He found a staircase and ran, hoping that Samara would be swifter for waiting.

"Let's stop playing games," Morinth said, a hard edge entering her voice. "Look into my eyes and tell me you want me. Tell me you'd kill for me. Anything I want."

"I want you..."

"Now the rest," Morinth prompted.

"If you want me to submit, you have to earn my respect," Shepard replied, her words obviously taking some effort to form clearly. "You were attracted to me because I don't give in," she continued, her voice growing clearer and stronger.

"But you... Who are you? Oh, no," Morinth stammered, confusion melting into fear, then anger. "I see what's going on. The Bitch herself found a little helper."

"Morinth!" Samara shouted, her voice carrying over the transmitter. Thane rounded the corner and saw the edge of a nimbus of biotic energy through the open doorway. He would thank Amon-Kira for clearing her path and allowing her to arrive at just the correct moment. He had been lax, of late, and choosing the wrong path might have gotten Shepard killed if he had been alone. He could not afford to let such things slide.

He sprinted the last few steps to the open doorway. Morinth was pinned to the glass window by a strong biotic field. Shepard slid off the couch, clearly in pain, but he saw no blood and she seemed uninjured.

"Mother," Morinth choked out.

"Do not call me that!" Samara demanded, slamming another wave of force toward her struggling daughter. Shepard reeled as the fringe caught her, and Thane rushed to help her get clear of the conflict.

"I can't choose to stop being your daughter, Mother," Morinth argued. He reached Shepard and helped her stand.

"Siha," he whispered, "are you hurt?" She shook her head, and he thought he saw relief, possibly even gratitude in her eyes as she allowed him to half carry her away from the conflict. Samara seemed to have Morinth well in hand, there was no need yet to interfere and Jane clearly needed to recover.

"You made your choice long ago," Samara accused, pushing her daughter harder to the cracking glass window.

Morinth lashed out with a massive shockwave of energy and force. Only luck allowed Thane to erect a barrier around himself and Shepard to deflect it from hitting them. Samara reeled from the attack and Morinth broke free of her hold.

"What choice?" Morinth shouted as both biotics prepared another attack– Samara's feet left the floor as she slowly rose and Thane couldn't tell who was responsible.

"My only crime was being born with the gifts you gave me," Morinth continued, releasing a strong burst. She walked slowly toward her mother who was sprawled out on the floor.

He could feel Shepard trying to generate a biotic field, but there was no power behind it. He prepared himself to act, but before he decided it was necessary, Samara lifted herself enough to throw a tight ball of energy, knocking Morinth off her feet.

"Enough, Morinth!" Samara desperately shouted.

"I am the genetic destiny of the asari," Morinth exclaimed. "But they are not ready to reveal this, so I must die." At her words, Shepard tensed. He glanced at her, surprised by her sudden focus. Why did the ravings of a pathological killer bear such significance?

"You are a disease to be purged, nothing more," Samara denied, putting voice to Thane's own opinion of the matter. Shepard pushed away from him and approached the conflict, her hands beginning to glow with biotic energy.

Morinth noticed, but she couldn't stop Shepard without letting down her defenses. Both asari were fully engaged. The globe of energy between them pulled and furniture began lifting from the floor, slowly orbiting the apartment.

"I'm as strong as she is," Morinth said, directly addressing Shepard. "Let me join you." Thane positioned himself to support Shepard. He was confident his siha would not allow the abomination to live, but in truth, he felt the Justicar was nearly as dangerous. There was no correct choice, here.

"I am already sworn to help you, Shepard," Samara entreated. "Let us finish this!"

Shepard hesitated a split second before grabbing Morinth, "End of the line, Morinth."

"And they call me a monster," the asari sneered just before Samara knocked her away from Shepard with a precise ball of force. Shepard backed out of Samara's path and flinched, turning away as the Justicar snapped her daughter's neck with a burst of biotic energy.

"Find peace in the embrace of the goddess," Samara intoned, the blue glow surrounding her dissipating. Thane had not looked away when Morinth desperately scrabbled away from her mother, and he did not flinch when Samara killed her.

Samara turned and saw them– Shepard, the dauntless warrior and, for all intents and purposes the closest thing to a bondmate the Justicars' code allowed, still averting her eyes in revulsion and pity, leaving a lowly assassin, sole witness to her victory and redemption, her shame, and her utter heartbreak. He found it almost poetically fitting. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment and she nodded before casting her eyes once more to Shepard. He left the apartment, allowing them some privacy. Despite his fierce desire to claim her solely for his own, this siha was many things to many people and he knew he must allow that.

Mordin shut down the simulation. The results were unsatisfactory, but he was too tired to rework the experiment again for the simulator before sleeping. He had been certain that this time he'd gotten it right, so he had frittered the evening away instead of preparing the next round of tests. "Shameful waste of time," he muttered into the empty tech lab. "Efficiency review needed, must focus better, or..."

The doors rushed open, interrupting his train of thought. "Here's the expert, Commander," Doctor Chakwas irately announced. "Since you don't like what I have to say about it, I'm turning you over to his care."

"Doc, it isn't like that," Shepard protested, alarmingly rolling her eyes. "I just don't think..."

"Exactly," Chakwas interrupted. "Professor Solus, I'm assigning you to complete the Commander's post-mission medical screen. She's exposed herself to an alarming array of intoxicants, so please be thorough and send me your report when you're done."

"Inconvenient," Mordin said, belatedly remembering to shake his head like humans did to indicate a negative. "Tech lab inappropriate setting for medical exam," he explained, softening the blow of his rejection. The trouble with the longer-lived races was their slow, sometimes arrested, emotional development. Shepard was relatively young, so at least she had an excuse, but Chakwas was in the same stage of life as he was. No excuse there for such a pedantic power struggle.

"See? He's not concerned," Shepard argued to Chakwas. "The implants are handling it. I'll sleep it off."

"Ah, implants." How could he have overlooked something so obvious? He took a deep breath. "Had not considered all factors," he said, resigned. He obviously suffered from mental fatigue, but this couldn't wait, and the required procedure would be simple, quick. "Yes, will prepare," he announced. "Commander, report to medical."

"Mordin, she's overreacting," Shepard pleaded.

"Full toxicology, if you please, Mordin," Chakwas interjected. "She admitted to Hallex, drell venom, alcohol, nicotine and caffeine, but her suit carries a full compliment of stimulants, muscle relaxers and analgesics. In combination with her cybernetics, I'm concerned about drug interactions."

"I was wearing civvies!" Shepard pointed out, exasperated. "My hardsuit stayed in the damned locker, and none of that except the hallex is anything new."

"Commander, little patience for this argument," Mordin snapped, earning a surprised glance from Shepard and a satisfied smirk from Chakwas. "Proceed," he said, waving a hand and wishing she would move faster. Sluggish, uncoordinated– not for most humans, by her standards– mental flexibility diminished, ineffective reasoning. Minor reaction to so many intoxicants, he silently noted. Dr. Chakwas stayed in the mess, which Mordin silently thanked her for. Listening to the humans bickering or having the doctor peering over his shoulder would have been too much to bear with good grace.

Shepard led the way into medical, and when the doors shut, she spoke without turning to face him, "Mordin, I need to get some sleep." She resignedly began shucking off her clothing in preparation for the exam without a care for modesty.

"Dermal regeneration regime appears effective, Commander. Congratulations."

"Thanks, I think. Do whatever tests you have to, but please let me go sleep soon," she reiterated, tossing her shirt and jacket behind her as she took a seat.

"Sentiment shared. Data collection now, preliminary analysis. Full report later."

"How long have you been working, Mordin? You look even more exhausted than I am."

"Irrelevant," he dismissed, preparing a tray with the items he would need. He would have to check the time in order to make the calculation she requested, and that was an unacceptable delay. "Recline, please," he prompted when his preparations were complete. Pulling the data collected by her cybernetic implants would be faster and more thorough than any battery of tests, but in order to address security concerns, he had disabled the remote transfer capabilities. The alternative method was simple, but he doubted the commander would appreciate it much.

Shepard laid back on the exam bed, but kept a wary eye on him. "What are we doing here, Mordin? That tray of instruments looks a bit alarming."

"Simple procedure. Must find access port to download implant records. Quicker, more detailed than running standard tests."

"Access port? Can't you plug into my bio-amp?"

"Separate systems. Impossible. Would administer sedative if not concerned about averse interactions. Certain soldier with your experience can handle small degree of discomfort," he soothed, activating the bed's restraints and carefully adjusting the angle of her head.

"So this is going to hurt," Shepard stated. Elevated heart rate, rapid breathing– she was clearly distressed.

"Discomfort expected," he confirmed. "Be still," he requested, reaching for the optic speculum. As he placed the instrument, Shepard gasped and would have jerked away and probably damaged herself if she hadn't been immobilized.

"Mordin, you can't put a fucking cable in my eye!" Shepard practically shouted. Her body tensed, testing the restraints. "Get Chakwas in here, now," she demanded. "That's an order!"

"Unnecessary, Commander," he said, puzzled at her extreme reaction. "Incision for micro cable will heal within hours or less. Transfer rate moderate– acceptable. Access to alternative port requires bone saw, considerably longer procedure and recovery. Or blood panel, full high-resonance scan, simulations, tissue samples... Could take hours."

"Fuck. Do it, you sadist, then let me out of here."

"Certainly, Commander," he confirmed, choosing to ignore the insult. She was clearly experiencing elevated stress and was reportedly under the influence of several intoxicants. The best thing he could do for her was to finish quickly. He scanned to pinpoint the exact position and angle to insert the needle from, then projected a small dot onto her eye. He considered programming the robotic surgery unit to perform the procedure, but if he did it himself– which he was certain he was capable of– it would be done much more quickly, and he suspected Shepard would experience more distress with heavy equipment involved.

It was fortunate her optics were over eighty percent artificial– he used a bright light and his omnitool to project a complex maintenance code into her eye, temporarily locking her ability to control it. It would automatically reboot in half an hour, but that was more than enough time.

"I can't see," Shepard reported anxiously.

"Cyber-optic structures offline. Temporary maintenance lockout. Convenient feature," he mildly commented. Shepard took a deep breath and seemed to calm herself, so with a steady hand, he slid the needle into place, then delivered the cable. Shepard's alarm increased, but she didn't try to move or cry out. Whatever her faults were, a weak will wasn't one of them.

He immediately began receiving the download, so he extracted the needle, leaving the filament cable in place. When the download was finished, the slightest pressure would disconnect the cable and it could be extracted with minimal trauma to the organic tissue.

"It doesn't feel right, Mordin," Shepard said, testing the restraints once more. If she chose to, he believed she would eventually be able to break free. He made a mental note to mention the fact to the doctor.

"Cable still in place. Download active," he informed her, squeezing a drop of saline solution onto her drying eye. "Doing well, Commander," he said, hoping to encourage and calm her.

"Well, thank you very fucking much. For the record, next time I'm sticking with mother hen Chakwas. Your mad scientist act is fucking terrifying, Mordin."

"Seventy-five percent," he announced. "Seldom get mad, Shepard," he joked. "Never mad at you."

"Well, and if you did, how would I know? You do me a favor by sticking a needle in my eye," she acidly retorted.

"Did both of us a favor. Question, Commander," he began, redirecting the conversation to something useful. He'd need some information for his report, after all. "Why consume intoxicants during mission?"

"Had to blend in at the club. And I needed to attract Morinth's attention."

"Only you? Not Thane and Samara?"

"No, not them. I was the bait. Thane's presence was unauthorized, and Samara stayed out of sight."

"Yet, drell venom..." he prompted, gently tugging the cable and extracting it from her eye when the download finished. Shepard visibly tensed once again. He applied a diluted wash of medigel, then removed the speculum, drawing a sigh of relief from Shepard. "Please continue."

Shepard squeezed her eye shut and was clearly trying to move it, but the maintenance lock was still active. "Thane chose to blend in by making a scene of letting all the humans lick him," she stated, ignoring her discomfort to answer his question. "So I did it too when he walked up. I know my limits, I was careful, and I didn't even have a gun. The only person in any danger was me. I'd never put my team on the line for something like that."

"I see," he said, noting her feverish adamance with curiosity. He reactivated her cyber-optics, then released the restraints. "Any injuries or other concerns?" he asked, beginning to compile the most recent data about her physical condition. Several of her implants were working harder than normal, but still within acceptable parameters. Her neural activity was unusual, but not alarming. At a glance, it seemed all she needed was hydration and sleep.

"I'm thirsty and I'm tired," she dutifully reported.

"Data agrees with you," he nodded. "Report to tech lab tomorrow for follow-up."

"Any advice about my eye?"

"Keep it closed. Bandage unnecessary, but available," he offered.

"No thanks," she said, replacing her shirt and jacket. "Next time I start taking off my clothes, stop me if it's unnecessary, okay? It's cold in here," she complained as she left medical.

Mordin hummed as he gathered the instruments he had used and dumped them in the autoclave, then ran the decontamination process over the exam bed. He considered sending the data to Dr. Chakwas before he retired for the night, but he wanted to provide further analysis. Working with the human doctor was a pleasant diversion, but he could comb the data faster himself, and he didn't wish to waste time. There were weeks worth of vital records, as well as a log of cybernetic activity. Perhaps he could discover something new to present to the Commander about project Lazarus, and if so, he didn't wish to share her inevitable gratitude with anyone.

"Jane," Thane repeated, his tone quiet, yet forceful. She had ignored three previous attempts to get her attention, and it was becoming intolerable. He needed her to speak to him.

"What?" Shepard snapped, her eyes finally lifting from the datapad in her hands. She hadn't been reading, merely staring at it, for a long time.

"Come, sit with me and tell me what's troubling you," he requested. He had risen early and come to speak with her, to apologize, if necessary, for his actions in Afterlife. But instead of finding her preparing for duty, she was still in bed, and she had avoided his attempts to begin the conversation that brought him to her uninvited. She welcomed him into her bed as if she had forgotten his insubordination and any other tension between them, but as soon as their passion was spent, she rolled away and lost herself in various tasks within the cabin. She didn't prepare herself for active duty, and she didn't speak to him, so he had dressed and seated himself on the couch, waiting for her mood to settle. But if anything, whatever report she was transfixed by only served to agitate and isolate her further.

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just..." She sighed and tossed aside the datapad she held and hadn't been reading for the past half hour. Rather than join him, she left the living area of the cabin and flopped down at her desk. Thane reminded himself to be patient. He waited for her to speak. She rummaged through the clutter on her desk. There was a tapping, then the sound of tearing foil and paper, followed by the snap and hiss of a lighter. She was smoking. Thane stood, carefully reigning in his temper, then went to her. Perhaps she was merely so distracted that she forgot.

"Siha, you promised me you would refrain..." he trailed off, and once again struggled with his temper. "Cigarettes?" he demanded, more harshly than he intended. "These are worse than cigars, why are you...?"

"If you don't like it, you know where the door is, Thane," she interrupted, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. She wouldn't even look at him. Her scent was almost entirely masked by the tobacco smoke, though it seemed she wasn't angry, but despairing.

"Do you wish me to go?" he asked as she drew smoke into her lungs.

Shepard met his gaze through her lashes and scowled. She blew the smoke directly toward him. He knew her well enough to realize she was deliberately pushing him, testing to see his reaction, so he kept his eyes locked to hers and casually waved a hand through the cloud to clear it away from his face. He kept his breath shallow and shoved aside his temper, yet again.

"Siha, answer," he insisted, a hard edge entering his tone, despite his efforts to appear calm.

"I don't care what you do," she stated, tapping ash from her cigarette and picking up her violet stone ashtray before rising to her feet. Her shoulder brushed against his chest as she stepped past him and into the bathroom, locking the flimsy door behind her.

Thane listened. Shepard set the ashtray on the counter with a light clink, then took a hard drag off the cigarette– he could hear it crackle as it burned. Any other sounds were masked when the air recycling system powered on. He considered pocketing her cigarettes, but inspection of her desk revealed not a pack, but a carton. Disposing of them wasn't the way to win the fight. He tossed the pack back into the drawer and as it slid shut, a silver packet caught his eye. He pulled the drawer fully open and snagged the packet. He had to be wrong. Red sand was packed like this, but why would she have so much in her possession?

In his hands, it felt right– dense, shifting powder– and the seal had been broken. He tapped the packet to settle the contents and carefully unfolded the breached seal. He went cold at the sight of its contents. It is. She's further gone than I knew. How could I be unaware of this? he demanded of himself. He swiftly resealed the packet and placed it in a hidden pocket in the lining of his jacket. Her choice to smoke was suddenly much less distressing. He needed to understand what was driving her. It was impossible to accept that a Siha would turn to self-destruction without extreme provocation.

The datapad. She had been careful not to let him read over her shoulder. Either she was just being obstinate and touchy because she was troubled, or the files on the datapad were causing her foul mood. Perhaps he would find a clue to explain her behavior. And he was certain that she hadn't locked the pad before she tossed it aside.

He silently crossed back to the lower section of the cabin and retrieved the datapad. Its glossy surface was marred with her fingerprints– many of them. She had been using this datapad, looking at these files, a lot. He hesitated. She would probably be angry with him for looking at her files, but it seemed she already was, and unless she suddenly felt the urge to apologize, it would be several minutes before she returned– at least long enough to finish her cigarette. He brushed his thumb across the screen, reactivating the device.

Shepard watched the cigarette between her fingers burn to ash. She flicked the filter with her thumb nail and most of the cigarette fell into the ashtray. She'd gotten distracted. This whole thing was just her trying to put off another visit to medical for a little longer, but she'd had an alarming realization, and she didn't know what to do with it. Thane didn't deserve to have to deal with her bullshit. He had nothing to do with it, and if anything, he was making it easier for her to sort through... everything. But that was just it– he had nothing to do with it– it was none of his business.

She didn't need someone to dash in and slay her personal demons for her. She especially didn't need to tell someone what those demons were. Speak the devil's name and give him power, she thought, almost laughing at the absurdity. But it was more true than not in this case. She placed the cigarette between her lips and inhaled the last drag before stubbing the cherry out in the ashtray Liara had given her. Terrible thing to give someone. Better than a bullet, I suppose. I suppose. It's a hell of a lot slower, especially for Commander Zombie Shepard. She rested her head in her hands. Fuck. What now? she wondered.

She hadn't heard the lift, meaning Thane was waiting for her. Meaning Thane was alone in her cabin, with free access to everything in it, she suddenly realized. She cursed and threw the flimsy sliding door open. Thane had her datapad in his hands and he didn't even bother to look up or flinch when she burst out of the bathroom. Angry as she was, at least he wasn't going through her desk or the classified files that were probably still unlocked on her personal terminal. She'd been more than careless.

"Drop it," she commanded coldly, storming down the steps into the living area.

Thane set the datapad carefully on the table, then folded his hands behind his back and looked her in the eye. "I've already reviewed the entire contents, Siha, with the exception of the vids. Why are you researching your own career?"

"Faulty memory," she tossed out without hesitation. "Humans are funny like that. I need to get to work. You should go."

"I think not. Your memory is good, Siha. If you won't tell me, then I'll speculate. I recently learned from Miranda how extensive your... reconstruction was. Perhaps you did lose memories in death, or perhaps you wish to know if what you remember is reality. Your association with Cerberus..."

"Association? They fucking own me, Thane. They brought me back from the dead. They know me well enough to tailor this crew, this mission, to make certain I'll do what the Illusive Man wants. No, it's worse, they know how to make me want to do what he wants."

"They don't own you, Siha. Your goals are temporarily aligned, nothing more."

"That's enough, though, isn't it? And how do I know there isn't a kill-switch, a control chip, something inside me that will make certain I can't get free? Miranda won't disclose, Jacob's not smart enough to know, Mordin... can't tell without a lot more time. But you know what? They don't need an implant or a bit of circuitry. All they had to do is plant a few memories or impressions or fucking personality quirks. That's how the reapers do it, near as I can tell."

"You believe your memories have been tampered with?" he asked, seeming distressed by the thought.

Shepard studied him for a moment. She hadn't intended to speak of this with him. She wasn't sure she should, even if she wanted to. "Why isn't the reaper threat being taken seriously, Thane?"

"The council has repressed information and told the public that Sovereign was geth, nothing more," he answered easily.

Shepard shook her head. It wasn't good enough. That explained the public. "My own former crew– people who fought and bled beside me, people who saw and heard everything except that fucking beacon's broken message– doubt me."

"You're speaking of Alenko," Thane guessed.

"Not just him," she snapped, feeling petulant for doing it. She was thinking of Kaidan, but also Liara, Tali, Garrus, Wrex. Everyone. Of all of them, who had done a single damned thing to prepare for the reapers? To warn people? To fight the propaganda? Liara had become an information broker– information, to combat the greatest threat the council races had ever seen. Beyond inadequate. Garrus became a vigilante on an insignificant hell-hole after he washed out of Spectre training, as if personal vengeance and some parody of justice would even matter once the reapers arrived. Tali went back to the flotilla and ran errands for the admiralty board, and Kaidan kept plodding along and taking orders, keeping his head down, neither doing nor saying anything spectacular. Wrex, she had heard, was at least making headway on uniting the krogan. The krogan had saved the galaxy from the rachni, maybe if Wrex was successful they could stand against the reapers. Doubtful, but for a krogan, Wrex's actions were very insightful, and it was still worthless. The krogan didn't have ships. They were a blunt instrument for the other species to wield.

"None of them did anything," she said. "None of them continued the fight after the Normandy went down. Didn't they believe me? Were they too stupid to understand what they were seeing?"

"It's easier to accept the lie. It feels safer and requires less of them," Thane softly offered.

"But it's a fucking lie, and they should know it– they should know what's at stake! No, I can't accept it. I didn't just give orders and tell everyone what to do, or what to believe, Thane. They stood with me. They fought alongside me. They joined the mission whether I wanted them or not. There were no recruitment speeches, no promises, no negotiations. They saw the threat and used me and the Normandy to do what they knew needed to be done. I used them as well, but I didn't have to win them over. That's what I remember. I need to know what they remember, but how can I ask? What will I do if I'm wrong? I'll eat a fucking bullet before I'll live as the Illusive Man's slave– his puppet."

"These are distressing questions, Siha. Ultimately, I believe you'll face the disappointment of accepting that whatever you had with your former crew, mourning your death and moving on has changed everything for them. Perhaps the shock of losing you clouded their priorities."

"It wasn't supposed to be about me," she weakly argued.

"You're an inspiring leader. Those who follow you can tell they're part of something greater. Without you, that sense of purpose vanishes."

"That's another thing, though. I wasn't an inspiring leader. I was good at it, but assembling this team of specialists is beyond my ability. It's so far beyond my ability that I went running back to the Council to ask for help as soon as the Illusive Man gave me command of the Normandy. They gave me a pat on the head and told me not to embarrass them, then sent me on my way. So did Anderson. So I tried it out and was shocked as hell when every single one of you agreed to sign up."

"It was well within your ability, Shepard. I was not inclined to join you until you spoke to me, but within moments, you began to win me over."

"Why?" Shepard asked sharply. "Do you normally change your mind so easily?"

"No. I live by my training and instincts. My instincts told me to steer clear of you because one who caused so much destruction would not be compatible with my own abilities, even if our purposes were similar."

"Then why?" she insisted.

"I can't explain it, Siha," he said before closing his eyes and recalling the memory, losing himself in the moment he met her.

The human woman boldly demands my attention, tempting the wrath of the gods, tempting my own. The anger washes away, taken by my body as my spirit appeals to the gods for forgiveness. The prayer is spoken only in my heart. My eyes open, find hers. Darkness in her eyes, as if swallowing the light. An apparition, a being of the sea. My soul quails under her gaze even as my body is drawn– like to like. Destruction and irreverence displease the gods. She must leave me– I have no desire to walk her path any longer. I speak, "You have gone great lengths to speak with me. I am listening," I lie. I will not listen. The human speaks and mundane words fall from her lips. Her eyes draw me deeper, communicate her conviction and hint at the things she has allowed her body to do in order to accomplish the things her spirit knows are vital. There is little left of her true self, for humans have no battle sleep. She has been awake for every atrocity, every sin. She knows not how to ask the gods for their forgiveness. Ragged and scarred, but somehow unsullied. A few words catch my attention. "Collectors... suicide mission..." I accept, wondering what I will charge for my very life. The question forms with the answer– I will charge nothing. "I will work for you. Free of charge," I say before I can change my mind, and I extend my hand as I know humans do. Her rough, filthy, blood-soaked glove grasps my palm, sealing the deal. "My arm is yours, Shepard," I promise, shocked to hear my own words. Is this my body or my spirit that speaks these things? I can't tell. The human is beautiful for a moment while she smiles as if she understands, though I know she does not. Promises bind and weigh down the soul, but I feel light and free for the first time since...

Thane clamped his mouth shut and his eyes focused on her. "How much did I...?" he questioned, clearly wondering how much of the recollection he had spoken aloud.

"Probably too much," she answered, swiftly sorting through the information and what the recollection revealed about Thane and his relationship with her.

"Forgive me, Siha," he said, seeming to turn inward.

"Don't apologize. What do you mean, my eyes drink light?" she asked, latching onto one of the less important points his memory raised.

"Are you not aware?" Thane demanded, suddenly alarmed. "What could I be seeing?" he asked under his breath.

"Eyes don't normally absorb light the way you describe," she began. Could this be some religious thing for him? More 'being of the sea' crap? No, there had to be a legitimate explanation for what he saw. "Mine don't absorb light, they glow red because of all the fucking cybernetics. They're synthetic."

He was openly relieved. "I can't distinguish dark red from black."

"So I look like some monster with beams of darkness shooting from my eyes and out of these fucking scars? Great. What the hell are you even doing with someone like me, Thane?"

"You're not unmarked, Siha, but your beauty is still obvious."

"At least when I smile like an oblivious idiot, right?" she sarcastically remarked.

"Siha, that isn't what I meant," Thane contested, reaching out to her.

"I don't really care," Shepard said, waving away his concern. It was petty, and his version of the ideal woman included green scales. She could handle falling short. "Maybe the reason you joined up is that I'm mind controlling everyone with some weird piece of reaper tech Cerberus graciously installed while I was a grilled chunk of meat on Miranda's operating table."

Thane's inner eyelids flickered twice over his eyes– Shepard thought that was an expression of shock or surprise. "They used reaper technology to bring you back?" he questioned.

"Ask Miranda," she began, wondering why she was discussing this with him at all. She was finding it strangely cathartic, though, and she decided to continue. "I'm almost certain most of it's reverse-engineered husk parts. I can't get straight answers, and I'm not sure I'd like getting them, but the rest of you deserve to know what kind of abomination you're following into hell."

"Siha, it changes nothing. It wouldn't matter," he soothed.

"I think it probably would," she argued, tired of platitudes. "Thane, please listen to your instincts, especially about me."

"As you wish, Siha," Thane said, seeming on the verge of saying more. He smoothed his hands down the front of his jacket and rose. "Inform me when you're ready to discuss your breach of faith," he said, inclining his head, then starting for the door.

"Excuse me?" she called, failing to halt his departure. If anyone was guilty of a 'breach of faith,' wasn't it him? How many strangers had he kissed or allowed to lick him?

"You broke the only promise you've made to me," he explained. "That must be addressed, but I will allow you some time to consider your position. I hope to forgive you."

"Because I smoked? You followed me, Thane. I didn't break a promise, you walked right into it after I made a point of isolating myself."

"Technically, that's true," Thane agreed, but she didn't believe for a second that he was conceding the point and he didn't turn around. "Good night, Siha," he said, walking through the door after a slight pause.

Shepard stared after him in shock. Who the hell did he think he was dealing with? And now she was supposed to beg for his forgiveness? That's it then– over a fucking cigarette. Nice while it lasted, she bitterly thought.