Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Night cycles were the hardest. That was true on the Normandy SR-1 and doubly true now. Hours in the dark with only the barely perceptible hum of the ship’s engines to keep you company. Nothing loud enough to drown out the thoughts or nightmares.

It was clear Cerberus gave no thought to how asphyxiating out in the black might affect a person. The SR-2 had way more windows than the original ship, one of which they’d installed directly over her bed. She hadn’t noticed it on her original walkthrough. It wasn’t until bedtime, when, exhausted beyond belief, she laid herself down and instead of rest, found herself facing the void. The panic that rose in her, the belief she couldn’t breathe, the weight on her chest, her empty lungs, the numbness that crawled up her extremities - a panic attack felt an awful lot like her experience with dying.

It was nice of them to equip the SR-2 with a psychologist, but Shepard didn’t trust Cerberus. How could she after seeing some of their projects while chasing down Saren. Her yeoman was obviously there to report back to the Illusive Man so she had to be careful what she said to her. She had to be careful what she said to anyone on her crew outside of Joker. They were all firmly in his pocket and when questioned they either denied his crimes or tried to justify them. N7 training didn’t cover what to do when you died and a terrorist organization spent billions rebuilding you. She managed the best she could.

Though even if she did manage not to say anything to her crew, she still had EDI to contend with. The AI had directly informed her she was recording and monitoring everything that happened aboard the SR-2 for the Illusive Man. Of all the changes to the ship, EDI was the one that made it feel the least like the Normandy.

In the early days, when the ship was still empty, she tried a lot of things to get some sleep. She requisitioned a thick blanket to cover the skylight with but it didn’t erase the knowledge that computer printed wool and a glass window were all that separated her from the vacuum. She tried working out until she could barely walk herself back to her cabin. She got drunk. She took sleeping pills. She “borrowed” Joker’s porn collection hoping a distraction might do it. She worked on reports and planned missions until the words on her terminal screen blurred. Nothing helped.

She’d usually eventually manage to pass out, but she was always woken by nightmares. She watched her ship get torn to pieces. She suffocated alone in silence, no one coming to her rescue. She dreamed of unseen doctors with muffled voices rebuilding her piece by excruciatingly painful piece, no anesthetic, unable to move or scream, alive but unbreathing. There were dreams where control of her body was taken from her and she was forced to watch it hunt down and kill her friends, unable to stop herself or even warn them.

Things got a little easier once she began filling her ship with allies and old friends. She still barely slept, and the little sleep she did get was often restless and frequently took place outside her cabin. It wasn’t uncommon for her to wake tucked into Garrus’ cot in the battery with her friend passed out in a chair stolen from the mess, or slumped over a terminal in engineering with one of Tali’s scarves draped over her shoulders, or to the smell of Thane’s special brew of tea in life support, a steaming mug placed in front of her. No one commented on it and she quickly got past the feelings of embarrassment and apologies after the first few times it happened. After Alchera though, sleep didn’t come at all.

She’d put it off as long as she possibly could. She knew it’d be a difficult mission. Like Cerberus, the Alliance also clearly gave little thought to how watching your ship be destroyed while asphyxiating in the vacuum of space might affect a person’s mental health. They clearly meant well and were trying to honour the 20 crew members she failed to save, but it was a lot to place on her shoulders.

The wording of the mission request didn’t help matters. They’d “invited” her to place a monument to the fallen ship and “be the first to walk on the site.” They were having her turn her own fucking grave into a tourist trap. If they really wanted to honour the Normandy, they should’ve just applied to place their monument in one of the parks on the Citadel.

She couldn’t bring herself to take anyone with her on this one. It was bad enough that she was expected to go. She wouldn’t force it on anyone who’d lived through it and she wasn’t about to further desecrate hers and her crew’s resting place by inviting Cerberus down with her. If walking through her fallen ship didn’t carry with it the benefit of offering some semblance of closure to the loved ones of the people she failed, she would’ve told the brass exactly where they could shove their monument.

Alchera was bleak and silent. The crunch of ice under her boots felt like a violation. Her living presence in this space was an insult to the dead, taunting them in their rest. She wanted to leave as soon as she touched down but rushing through the space would be even more disrespectful.

She moved slowly through the wreckage, stopping to kneel at every burned and frozen body, well preserved by the climate. She apologized for failing them and collected their military tags to send to their families with her regrets. She wept when she stumbled across Pressley’s datapad, still with enough battery to flip through the corrupted files of his personal diary.

He’d been such a fucking ass to and about her non-human crew. She’d called him out on it more than a few times, threatening to write him up for insubordination. But by the end he’d finally come around. She doubted he’d approve of her work with Cerberus. He deserved the chance to call her out for it like Kaiden and every other of her old crew members had, even if there was nothing she could do about it.

When she’d planted the fucking memorial, she finally returned to the SR-2, completely raw, clutching her old N7 helmet she’d found tightly, the tags for every single one of her fallen crew members inside.

Thane was waiting in the cargo hold for her as she stepped out of the shuttle. He didn’t say anything, just steered her to the elevator with a hand hovering a few inches from the small of her back. He pressed the button for the crew deck, leading her into Life Support and pulling a chair out for her to collapse in.

Life Support was one of the safe rooms on the ship. It had no windows leading to the cold vacuum and was never silent. The rhythmic sounds of the machines had a hypnotic effect, forcing her breath to slow to match them. And its inhabitant always seemed to understand what she needed.

She sat, staring off into space, lost to flashbacks of the original Normandy and her crew. She didn’t even notice how badly she was shaking until he knelt at her feet, his hands closing around hers on the helmet in her lap.

Her eyes snapped into focus on his concerned face and a broken sob punched its way past her throat.

“I know, siha,” he said softly, gently prying her white knuckled hands off the old helmet and placing it on his table beside a steaming cup of tea. 

He began removing her armour from her, neatly stacking it off to the side until she was just in her undersuit, and then placed the hot tea in her hands. He guided it to her mouth, pulling his hands back when she took a sip, the spiced earthy taste snapping her fully into her body.

“They had me desecrate my own grave,” she finally said, voice hoarse with anger and grief.

“I know,” he said again, still kneeling at her feet. “Would you like me to get Garrus or Tali or Joker? Dr. Chakwas?”

She shook her head. He was right, she needed to debrief with them, but she couldn’t when she was this unraveled. She’d gather them in an hour or so when she’d pulled herself together and felt less destructive.

“Tell me what you need, siha,” he said.

“What does siha mean?” she asked, instead of answering the question.

Thane sighed and picked himself up off the ground and took the seat across from her. “It isn’t time to hear my confession,” he said.

If she let her mind settle, let it sit in one place, focus on one thing, it would focus on her death. It’d call up the memories of suffocating, or watching the Normandy break apart as it fell to Alchera, pieces breaking off and burning as it hit the atmosphere. The fist around her heart would tighten its vice like grip and her lungs would stop drawing in air and the edges of her vision would cloud black. Her face and hands and feet would go numb first, the cold pins and needles creeping up her arms and legs while her chest burned. She’d feel like she was dying all over again and short of having Chakwas drug her, there’d be nothing anyone could do to stop it.

She staved off the panic with rambling and pacing. Words fell from her lips half crazed, thoughts jumbling together in a way she knew didn’t make sense and she walked anxiously around the room but Thane didn’t stop her. He let her speak, occasionally offering a non-committal reply with his soothing voice, his black eyes tracking her movements, watching them get faster and more jittery as she paced.

If asked later, she’d have no recollection of what she said. That wasn’t the point. The point was to keep busy. The point was always to keep busy. Stay one step ahead of the next panic attack. Keep out of arm’s reach of the next PTSD episode. Escape before death or the Collectors catch up. She was Commander fucking Shepard and she could do this all night.

She turned again in her disjointed circuit around the room to find him blocking her path. He placed a hand on each shoulder and slowly backed her against the window overlooking the life support engines.

“Take a deep breath, siha,” he said, holding her gaze.

“I-” she started to speak again, stopping at the shake of his head.

“Breathe siha,” he said softly. “You and your ship are alive. Match your breath with hers.”

She drew in a deep, shaky breath, then another and another, copying the thrum of the engines vibrating the window at her back. He held her there, trembling, gently talking her out of the cycle of fear she was caught in.

Silent tears started to spill from her eyes, soaking her cheeks. He stopped holding her at arms length against the window and instead pulled her into him, arms wrapping around her and pressing her against his chest. A hand cradled the back of her skull, tucking her face into his throat as he smoothly sank to the floor, bringing her gently down with him to lie in his arms. His subvocals hummed softly as he continued to speak in his soothing voice and began softly dragging his nails up the base of her skull in time with the engines.

No one had touched her outside of a medical capacity since she’d died and she hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to just be held. He smelled of a mixture of the spiced earth of his tea, gun oil, leather and citrus. His strong arms felt like safety and the nails on her scalp expanding slowly out from the nape of her neck and contracting back down grounded her.

He held her for what could have been minutes or hours, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t want to pull away, even when she finally had control of herself. He didn’t push her away, letting her take her time.

“Thank you,” she finally said.

“Anytime, siha,” he said softly.

She blinked and looked around, realizing they were both on the floor in a rather compromising position, his face only inches from hers. Her cheeks grew hot and she pulled herself from his grasp, avoiding his gaze.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said. “You know anything that happens in here is only between the two of us.”

“And EDI,” she said. The ship’s AI recorded everything on the Normandy.

Thane gave her a guilty look, “Actually, I may have reprogrammed the cameras in here to only show the same looped recording.”

Shepard laughed at that, “And she hasn’t noticed?”

“The thing about a shackled AI is that they’re a lot easier to manipulate,” Thane said. He smoothly rose to his feet and offered her a hand.

She let him pull her up, stepping back from him to maintain some professional distance. She wanted to be back in his arms but at this point it didn’t seem wise.

“More tea and a proper conversation?” he offered.

She shook her head. “I should go. I need to change out of my undersuit and do something for the SR-1 crew,” she said.

“Ms Chambers left fresh clothes and your flight suit storage bag for you outside my door while you were pacing,” he said.

Shepard nodded, touched that he’d thought to ask her to do that.  “Thank you, Thane,” she said again.

“I am here whenever you need me, siha,” he said, sitting in his usual chair. “My arm is yours, for whatever you require.”

Chapter Text

Commander Shepard was disconnected. Nobody really spoke about it directly, but everyone aboard the Normandy knew. It was hard not to notice your commander avoiding any room with a window and refusing to sleep until her body collapsed. 

Repairing a disconnected person was easier when it was the body that was ill. When the soul suffered, it was difficult - particularly when the soul that was suffering clung to pride in defence. A person had to be aware of and admit to the disconnect. They also had to be open to receiving aid. At best guess, Shepard was aware but the closest she’d come to admitting anything or accepting aid was when she’d frantically paced the Life Support room after returning from the corpse of her previous ship and allowed him to take her into his arms as she cried.

He suspected she viewed her fear as weakness. Shepard was fierce in battle and fearless in her pursuit of what she believed was right. She never hesitated to run headfirst into a firefight and navigated tense political situations with the same energy. She entrusted her life to her ship and her crew every day and had earned their trust back a hundred times over. Everything she did was in spite of her fear and trauma and in his mind that made her the strongest person he’d ever met.

Thane was not a good man. If he measured his life in what he added to the world, and what he took away, he was deep in the red. His hands were stained with it. But this disconnected human had woken him again from his battle sleep and given him a chance to balance his ledger and for that, he owed her everything he had to give.

He started with distraction. Assassins didn’t tend to keep to standard sleep cycles. It was far easier to complete wetwork in the dark when targets were more likely to be alone and he was less likely to be seen. Old habits die hard. Plus the Normandy was very full and he still wasn’t accustomed to having a team. The night cycle was much calmer and quieter. He kept the door to life support unlocked all hours and sometimes she’d come chat with him after Garrus and Tali and her other friends retired for the evening.

He didn’t ask her personal questions. He left her past for her to bring up if she wanted to though he’d already read up on her and knew most of it anyways. Instead he’d chat with her about philosophy and religion and art. He’d talk about growing up in the Compact and answer her questions about his family - things he spoke about to no one. On nights when she seemed particularly restless, they’d go down to the cargo hold to spar. On nights when she couldn’t stand silence but didn’t have the energy to talk, he’d choose a novel and read to her until she either fell asleep or excused herself to get ready for the day cycle. She liked adventure and mystery stories with a romantic subplot.

She passed out at his table with more and more frequency. At first he’d draped his leather jacket over her shoulders for warmth but otherwise left her to sleep until morning, afraid to wake her. She needed her sleep more than anyone.

She always made the most adorable faces when she woke in the morning to him gently setting a mug of spiced tea in front of her. He wanted to kiss her as she grumbled and blinked, still wrapped in his jacket, occasionally pulling it tighter around herself as if she wanted to fall back asleep. Her pink face always scrunched up as she tried to stretch out her stiff back. He’d catch her throughout the day rubbing at her neck and he’d wish it weren’t improper for him to offer to massage the knots out for her.

After Alchera though, he decided she didn’t need to spend her nights slumped over a table when there was a perfectly good cot a few feet away. If he were to be honest with himself, that was really nothing more than an elaborate justification to have her in his bed, but it was at least not purely selfish. The saviour of the galaxy deserved a proper rest, even if she was unable to find it on her own.

He’d wait a half hour after she nodded off in case she wasn’t truly ready to sleep for the night and then he’d gently pick her up and tuck her into his bed. She usually didn’t wake and he’d sleep on a mat on the floor with the spare blanket and pillow he’d stolen from one of the shared sleeping rooms and hidden under his bunk.

He would’ve stolen an extra cot as well if he thought he could get away with it, but she likely would’ve noticed that and taken it as a sign she’d encroached on his space uninvited. He didn’t want her to feel guilty for putting him out when, in her words, she had a perfectly good bed in the cabin she rarely used. He wanted her in his space and missed her when she managed to find rest elsewhere. Plus Thane had slept in much worse places before and with far worse company.

On rare nights when he was very lucky, she would wake up when he lifted her, wrapping her arms around him and curling her face into his neck. She’d refuse to let go, asking him to stay with her. He knew he probably should refuse her. A good man wouldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability; not without a sober discussion beforehand. But Thane was not a good man. She fit perfectly in his arms and who was he to refuse a siha when she begged him to hold her?

She’d sleepily tug him down on the cot and plaster herself to his side still wrapped in his jacket, one leg draped over him, her head on his shoulder, a hand over his heart. She’d make the softest little noises - happy little sighs as she wiggled herself until she was comfortable - and close her eyes. He’d wrap the blankets over them both, resisting the urge to press a kiss into or run his hands through her hair and hoping his body didn’t do anything embarrassing or incriminating while he slept.

He couldn’t wake her those mornings with a hot tea like he did any other time she slept in Life Support. He still usually woke before her - drell didn’t require as much sleep as humans did - but any attempt to remove himself from her arms made her grumble in her sleep and wrap herself around him tighter. He spent the time she still needed to sleep absently stroking his hand up and down her back and silently praying to his gods for her protection and recovery.

He craved the intimacy of those nights. He never slept better than he did with the warmth of her body sprawled half on top of his and he loved feeling her slowly wake in his arms. He also took some pleasure in the way she liked to wrap herself in his jacket, even when there were perfectly serviceable blankets she could have instead. He never voiced any of this to her though, worried it’d ruin a good thing. It seemed like she felt safe with him - a feeling he thought she desperately needed - and if his affection for her was not returned, that could change.

“Thane?” she asked one night with an uncharacteristically timid voice.

“Yes?” he placed the datapad he’d been reading to her from down on the table between them. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been awake, but she looked like it’d been too long when she’d entered Life Support an hour earlier.

“Could you-” she cut herself off, biting her lip. “Can I ask for a favour?” she said after a moment.

“Anything, siha,” he said.

“There’s a window in my cabin above my bed,” she said.

Thane hadn’t seen her room but he immediately understood why she slept literally anywhere else on the ship. Waking up to a view like that with her past must be terrifying. He kept his face still so as not to offend her and waited for her to tell him what favour she needed from him.

“I can’t-“ she bowed her head, her fingers sinking into the hair at the nape of her neck and fisting it like she was trying to copy how he’d calmed her after Alchera but was too tense to be gentle. “I can’t be alone in there,” she whispered. “I was alone when I died.”

“Would you like to continue our book there?” he asked.

She nodded, still refusing to look at him. “And could you hold me?” she asked, her voice smaller than he’d ever heard it before.

Thane stood and rounded the table holding a hand out to her, “I would be honoured, siha.”

The tension slowly drained from her shoulders and she released her grip on her hair, letting a hand drop into his. She blinked up at him. He closed his fingers around hers and gently pulled her to her feet before picking the datapad up off the table and leading her out of the room. It was late enough that it was unlikely anyone would see them heading to her cabin together.

She didn’t let go of his hand, gripping him tightly as they rode the elevator up. He watched her out of the corner of her eye, noticing her getting more and more tense as they got closer to her room.

EDI opened the door to her cabin when she approached it and he let her guide him inside. The room was massive. There was an office space near the door and a few steps leading down to a large sitting area with a bed against the far wall. The wall by the door had fish tanks built into it, burbling softly as colourful fish swam back and forth..

“Kelly makes sure they’re fed for me,” she said as he stopped in front of them. “They’re relaxing. I thought they’d help.”

Thane made a non-committal sound. The fish were soothing. Their tank bathed the cabin in a soft blue light. Tall leafy plants swayed gently with the current of the water. They filled the silence of the room with a soft, unobtrusive sound. They didn’t help the massive blanket covered window over Shepard’s bed though.

He pulled his gaze away from them and looked at her. “Couch or bed?” he asked.

She froze at the question, glancing anxiously at the blanket.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready, siha,” he said softly.

She shook her head but stayed rooted where she was. He turned back towards her, sliding his free hand into her hair and letting his nails scrape gently at the base of her skull. A lot of species found it relaxing, drell included. He and Irikah used to soothe Kolyat the same way when he had nightmares as a child.

Thane was fascinated by her hair. It was such a vibrant red, the most colourful thing about her body aside from her eyes. And there was so much of it. She usually kept it pinned up in a round knot on the top of her head. He rarely saw it down. The few occasions he did, he wanted to run his hands through it. It looked impractical and alien but also soft and shiny.

She slowly relaxed, stepping into his arms and resting her head on his shoulder. She released the death grip she had on his hand and wrapped her arms around his waist under his jacket.

“Would you like to go back down to life support?” he asked after a moment.

She shook her head and sighed, “No I need to be able to do this.”

“Very well,” he said. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her to the bed.

She stopped him, a hand on the bare skin of his chest. He let go of her and waited for her to tell him what she needed. Her hand slid down to the clasps of his jacket.

“May I?” she asked.

“Siha?” he asked, unsure what her intentions were. He’d offered to read to her and she’d asked him to hold her. He wasn’t sure he could take things much further than that, not without a lot of introspection on his part, a bit of research into their species’ differences, and an honest conversation about intentions and his illness, none of which he was immediately prepared for.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her, because he very much did. But she was the first person he’d even held since Irikah that he hadn’t assassinated and he needed to make sure his feelings about that were sorted out before letting anything progress further. He also needed to make sure her feelings were sorted too. He had noticed how close she was with Garrus and while he hadn’t informed the man, drell could hear the full range of turian subvocals and he could translate their meanings. He didn’t need her to choose between them, but he also didn’t want to cause any conflicts with the rest of the crew.

Her face flushed red, an endearing thing he’d noticed humans did when embarrassed. They seemed to have no control over it and it seemed to make their embarrassment worse, particularly when it was pointed out. He politely blinked at her, waiting for an explanation.

“You always cover me with it when I fall asleep at your table,” she said, staring at her hands on his chest instead of his face. “It makes me feel safe.”

He was too stunned at her admission to formulate an immediate response. Pride filled his beleaguered chest with warmth. He knew Shepard trusted him, but there was a difference between trusting a comrade to have your six in battle and feeling safe with them in more vulnerable moments. She almost never asked for anything for herself while giving everything she had, including her own life, to help others. 

“Nevermind. It’s stupid,” she stiffened and dropped her hands, stepping away from him.

He quickly shrugged out of his leather jacket and slipped it over her shoulders. It swallowed her muscular frame

“Did you want to try this with the window covered first?” he asked, pretending not to notice her deepening blush, the soft smile that brightened her face, or how much he liked seeing her in his clothing. He sat down on the edge of her bed and removed his boots.

“Better to just rip off the bandage,” she said, toeing off her own shoes.

He was unfamiliar with the idiom, humans have so many, but he could guess at its meaning. She climbed onto the mattress and took a deep breath before grabbing the blanket and tearing it down, roughly rolling it into a ball and tossing it to the floor. She pulled his jacket tighter around her shoulders with trembling hands and froze, staring out the window at the stars.

Thane offered her a hand. “Come on,” he said gently, gesturing with the datapad, “I think we were just getting to the good part.”

She let him pull her down to sit beside him, laying her head on his shoulder and pressing her tense and shaking body against his side with a tight grip on the jacket wrapped around her. He set her legs over his lap and tucked an arm around her shoulder, gently stroking his hand up and down her back. Her eyes didn’t stray from the reinforced glass above them as if afraid it’d shatter at any moment and suck them out into the vacuum.

“Tell me if it’s too much, siha,” he said.

She didn’t respond so he turned the datapad back on and picked up from where he’d left off. Slowly she stopped shaking and the tension drained from her body as he read. She loosened her grip on the jacket wrapped around her and slowly wrapped an arm around his waist, wiggling in the way she did to get comfortable. 

She tucked her face into his neck, steady breath warm against his throat. He rested his chin on the top of her head. She hummed contentedly and he fought the urge to tilt her chin up and kiss her. Instead he kept reading until she fell asleep half in his lap and wrapped in his jacket.