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Thane realized that even when Shepard was asleep, she was not truly at rest. She slept with a fist balled under her chin and her brow furrowed, as though bracing herself before some monstrous sight. As her eyes fluttered under their lids, Thane felt a twinge of pity, mixed with gladness that she was able to sleep at all. The party had afforded her a small amount of distraction, but it had only brought his unease to the forefront. The evening glittered in his mind like an iridescent bubble, all the more luminous for how quickly and unavoidably it was bound to be shattered.
He stroked the side of her head, his fingertips drifting through the silky disarray of her hair. Gradually, her brow grew smooth and her hand relaxed. The ache in Thane’s heart softened a little, but he felt no less awake. With a last wistful glance at her curled form, he crept out of bed, hoping that stretching his legs would help ease his mind.
He padded out of the bedroom and into the corridor, just barely able to make out the shapes of walls, furniture, and sleeping figures in the darkened apartment. The only sound to be heard was the lazy hum of Silversun Strip outside.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he spotted a faint glow in the kitchen, reflecting off a dark figure that hunched over the counter. His muscles tensed automatically, knowing that the apartment was well-secured but aware that nothing was truly safe anymore—
The figure twitched. “Trust you to be creeping around at this hour,” muttered a familiar feminine voice.
Thane smiled. If he had to guess who else might be awake, it would have been her; she was perhaps the most tireless human he’d ever met.
“I apologize, Miranda. I did not mean to frighten you.”
“It’s nothing,” she whispered. She waved at the barstool beside her. “I’d turn on the lights, but I’d rather not disturb the others.”
Thane glanced in the direction of the living room, able to make out some vaguely Krogan-shaped heaps. As though on cue, an almighty snore resounded from the corner. It sounded as though it might have been Javik.
He took the seat by Miranda’s side. “I am glad that they were able to take time to celebrate.”
“And you?” She put her datapad down on the counter. It displayed a set of graphs and a diagram of a planet. The screen’s faint orange glow reflected off Miranda’s bloodshot eyes. “Have you been able to celebrate?”
Thane planted his elbows on the counter. “Perhaps that is not the word that I would use, but I am grateful for every moment that she is spared from the battle—that all of you are spared.”
Miranda nodded. “So am I—but I don’t know how to get used to it. The music, the food, the apartment—nothing seems real. I can’t remember how it feels to not be at war.” She laughed—a small, flinty, humorless sound. “Then again, my memory isn’t like yours.”
“Hmm.” Thane rested his chin on his knuckles. “I could bury myself in memories of my life before I joined the Normandy, but I would never choose to do that. Not when you have all given me so much.”
Miranda scratched her head. “But don’t you ever feel… lost in all of this? Even if we win, even if we survive, I can’t imagine how much the galaxy will change.”
“Nor can I. But it gives me some comfort to recall how many other things have been beyond my imagination.” He paused, memories forming and eddying in the corners of his vision. “I could never imagine how my life would change when I accepted that last contract. I could never imagine sitting here, at this counter, on this night.”
Miranda sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I see your point, Thane. We’ll just have to figure it out when we get there.”
Thane was surprised to feel the ache in his chest melt away, replaced by a glow of faith in the simplicity of her words. Her intellect and tenacity had been pitted against countless enemies and traitors and even death itself, and she had won. Who could judge what else was possible?
“We will, Miranda. And you will, no doubt, figure it out before the rest of us.”
Miranda chuckled, but stopped as a voice rose on the far side of the living room. Javik seemed to be chanting “Omelette, omelette,” in his sleep.
“I should get back to Shepard,” Thane whispered as he slid off the barstool. “You deserve a rest.”
Miranda flipped over the datapad, extinguishing its light and leaving them in a darkness where—for the smallest sliver of a second—it felt as though all good things were safe and sound, simply concealed until it was their time to emerge.
“I suppose we all do.”