Chapter Text
The rain falls, rolls down my scales, soaks me. The hanar guides my young eyes, urges me to watch the movement beneath the wild blue waves of the Encompassing. Two forms thrashing, twirling in the waters. I perceive it to be graceful in the depths, a dance. They spin around each other. I can barely follow. Then, a red cloud rises, and only one form swims away.
This is the moment I understand death. When one takes a life, part of the other is taken away with them.
Thane opened his eyes to the stark, barren walls of the room, pulling himself out of the memory. He sat silently at the table, hands folded before him, the hum of the reactor steady and calming through the viewing window. The AI had promised him that life support would be warm, and indeed it was. This would be a fair place for him. The air was dry; good for his lungs.
I could survive here if the gods will it. For a while.
He had previously settled himself, meticulously arranging his guns in a display case there—whether or not that was its true purpose. There was a table and two chairs, and room for a cot behind him. He had need of little else as far as possessions—no need for sentimental items of an irreversible past. He needed only his effects and what was practical for the extent of his stay on the Normandy. He would not be coming back.
Recently, he had been spending copious amounts of time reviewing his life. He had been thinking specifically of the things that had been his own choice, back when he had awakened from his battle sleep for the first time. Her defiance, her loving embrace, feelings of continued forgiveness. Then… Their deaths at my hands. My choice. I must atone, even still. But that was the past, and he had fallen asleep again. He could not say that he was fully awake now, but he was stirred.
Thane supposed he had her to thank.
His thoughts drifted to the one he had agreed to work for—the reason he was here.
I drop from the vent, two steps and his neck snaps. I turn, a strike to the throat, crushing the windpipe. The next guard drops. I draw my gun, shooting the third before she can shoot me. Three guards down and my path is clear. The target is before me. I grip her arm, spin her. My gun against her stomach, angled toward her heart. A second to register her impending death. She tries to look at my face, and then, a single shot. She cries out. I hold her in my arms, lower her to the desk, our dance finished. The sounds of her last breaths are forever etched upon my mind. I fold her hands across her chest, and then….
He had been well aware that there were others in the room. Three more of them. A turian, a salarian, and one in the middle, wearing a helmet which concealed her features. Obviously female by her shape. She was the leader, he knew, but he could not accurately guess her species. They stood near the door, waiting for him—or blocking his path.
Thane had gone into his prayers nonetheless. He had not believed that they would shoot him on the spot. He had heard them talking as they’d made their way through the building, and knew they sought him to have a conversation. Even if they lost patience with him and decided to act, it would have been a suitable end. Unexpected, and yet not, on this night.
He had decided to take his time, though curious about what they wanted with him. He had nothing to lose, after all.
She spoke, her voice clear in the stillness of the room. He remembered her first words, as he remembered all of her words, as clearly as if she were speaking to him now.
“I tore this place apart looking for you, assassin. We need to talk.”
Her voice is even, low. A hint of irritation. She was trying to sound tough. She could wait. He owed her nothing.
“A moment,” he’d said sharply. “Prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken.”
“I knew Nassana,” she countered. “I doubt she could be bothered to pray for herself. Why should you?”
He’d looked up at her, trying to meet her eyes through the helmet she wore. Perhaps she had been trying to find his as well, green orbs hidden in a sea of black.
“Not for her,” he corrected. “For me.”
He had presented himself to her with cold confidence. At that point, he had not yet decided whether he would have to act against her company, but he also did not yet know her truth.
Who was she behind the mask?
“Did you come here to stop me?” he asked. “You did not succeed.”
Even as he said it, he did not believe that had been her aim. What she wanted was something else—something specifically related to him. Had she come to seek retribution for a past contract? What did she intend? Why did she wish him dead? Of that, he was sure.
Thane had stepped in front of the turian’s gun, hands behind his back, looking into the opposing alien’s small blue eyes. He was not to be intimidated. If the turian shot him, so be it, but he had been feeling so indignant in that moment that he had already come up with three ways to turn the tide in his favor. He wouldn’t act unless he must, and he would not let on that he was in control.
“I don’t care about Nassana,” she said bluntly. “She was your target, and you killed her. Congratulations. You did what you came here to do. Now, you listen to me.”
He hadn’t liked her demands, but he understood that she felt the need for them. They did not know each other, and the reputation of his profession must have led her to believe certain things about him.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “You seemed content to distract her while I made my move. Interesting. You helped me get what I wanted so that I would be more agreeable?”
She crossed her arms. Taking offense?
“Gunfire and explosions. Noisy,” he went on pointedly. “I prefer to move in silence. If I have to engage guards, I have made a mistake. I rarely make mistakes.”
He had not felt guilty for his boast.
“You used us to your advantage the entire time,” she confirmed.
“Was that not your intention?” he asked. He’d kept his back to her, merely peering over his shoulder. “Nevertheless, I was curious to see how far you would go to find me. To the end, it seems.”
“I’m not sure I like that implication,” she said then. Thane could not care what she thought.
“I needed a diversion,” he shot back. He could hear the dislike in his own voice. “You needed to speak with me. Now what would you like to discuss? Though if we are to speak, I’d prefer to see the face of the one addressing me,” he said, though he did not even bother to face her. That was how much she troubled him.
Thane knew that if he had wished, he could have killed all of them—or at least come close, before they shot him down. He had been expecting to die that night, but the way she had made him feel in that moment pushed him to defy that. If she aimed to kill him, he would not perish as she wanted.
She stepped up to him, not too close, and finally she revealed herself. She took off her helmet, and long, unruly red hair had spilled out to frame a pale face. Human. He had suspected.
Thane, like other species in the galaxy, had a few opinions about the human race, and though she was flanked by a turian and salarian in the sunset-bathed penthouse, her method of approach left him with no choice but to hold to previous assumptions.
This human was like others he had observed. She made a lot of noise and asserted herself where she was not welcome.
Yet she was not unknown to him. Even he, who had been in his battle sleep for a decade, recognized the face of Commander Shepard—Alliance hero, first human Spectre, slayer of Saren and Sovereign. He had seen her face many times on screen. She was an icon to her race and to the galaxy. She needed no introduction.
To see her in person, however, was something entirely different.
She was tall, he felt, for a human female. She was almost exactly his height, and did not stand far below the turian in her company. Perhaps that helped her command respect among her race. Her coloring caught the eye, impossible to ignore. Blood red hair against pale skin, flowing down her armor. Clear light eyes like cloudy heavens. There was a webbing of slight red scars over the left side of her face. He was not sure what to make of that, but despite them, he guessed she was likely considered an attractive human. He couldn’t say for certain, but those with features such as she had were often revered among her race. Her face had symmetry. That, he supposed, he could appreciate as well.
But from what he recalled—and he knew he was right—she was supposed to be dead.
And yet, so was I.
They had spoken then, yes, of many things, and he had discovered her purpose. She had invited him, though it was more of an insistence, to join her cause against the Collectors.
She had unknowingly appealed to his need for atonement—and his need to die.
After her impassioned plea, he had agreed to join her here on the Normandy, to aid her in her quest, with the expectation that taking the battle to the Collectors was a suicide mission. She had tried to say that she would prove that to be false, but he needed to believe otherwise.
Death is calling. I need it to be. Kepral’s is not killing me swiftly enough. Kalahira, guide me to the sea.
But there was still a long road ahead. Disagree as they might, the human woman had been a force in his mind.
And now?
He had not appreciated the way that she had approached him initially. His pride had triggered him to anger toward her, but now that he’d had time to reflect, he had reconsidered. He was only alive because of her. For better or worse, the gods had sent her into his path. Why? Had they taken pity on him, or were they simply pushing him in the way he should go? He had taken to meditation and prayer over the matter, but had come away with nothing. Thane knew he must give it time. The answers did not always come right away.
He had been on the Normandy for just over a day, and had observed her a few times as he’d been exploring the ship, but they hadn’t spoken again. She was always going to and fro, busily talking to others, and though Thane wondered what he would get when he finally got to speak to her, he found himself anxiously awaiting his turn. She would approach him when she was ready, he imagined.
If only to test her. I must see who it is that I am working for. She told me what she intends to do, but now I must learn what she is about.
He remained at the table now, meditating on these things, breathing in the warm, dry air in life support. Most in his position might have sat facing the doorway, but he did not care for that. There was no need to be so aware, here. If someone had truly wished to come in and stab him in the back, so be it—though he doubted many were capable enough before he would come to awareness. For now, he remained, listening to the calming hum of the reactor as he continued to review his life.
‘Which one do you think?’ she asks. She is holding both of the dresses against her body, one after another. They look much the same to me. I wonder why she doubts herself. She is beautiful, perfect in everything—or nothing. She doesn’t see herself like I see her.
Thane closed his eyes, hands clasped before him—and then a chime resounded, signaling that someone was at the door.
After a moment, he heard the entry slide open, for he had not locked it down. Couldn’t be bothered. If he had, perhaps Shepard would not come to see him.
He knew her by the sound of her footsteps, by the salty scent of her skin. She stopped several paces behind him, out of his sight, not too close. Was she cautious? He wondered. Now that she was alone and unarmed, did she fear him? Or was she simply being respectful of his space?
At that moment, he was not sure which he envisioned from her. She had contradicted his expectations before.
“Do you need something?” he asked flatly, not turning to face her, needing to prove that he was not too eager for her company.
“Have a few minutes to talk?” she asked. He was impressed that she had asked for his permission. It was a pleasant surprise in contrast to her demands during their last interaction. As long as she remained civil, he would as well.
“Certainly,” he said, letting his voice take on an amiable tone. “I’ve been hoping for the chance.”
There was a chair across from him at the table, but she did not approach it. She preferred to stand where she was, back behind him. If this was how she wished to converse, he did not bother himself to turn and face her.
“I wanted to ask you a few things,” she began, and soon they were discussing his illness first and foremost, whether or not he might spread it to the rest of the crew, or if he would fall limp in the middle of a mission. He gave her the information she desired, and assured her that his disease would not affect his work. She made few personal comments, and he found himself talking about the details of his impending death in a detached way. ‘Kepral’s Syndrome. Our bodies cannot process oxygen. Eventually, we suffocate.’ Once she was satisfied with that, she was content to move on to other things.
“I wanted to talk to you about your role here,” she said.
“Of course.”
Shepard began to move again, passing the table and stepping into his field of vision. Out of her armor now, she was wearing a black and white uniform like the others on board the ship. Cerberus. He knew it now. Her long hair spilled around her shoulders. She moved toward the reactor window, her arms crossed before her as she peered out.
“As an assassin, I get that you’re more of a lone wolf. You’re used to working on your own terms. I need to know that’s not going to be a problem.”
A lone wolf? It was a human saying, but yes, he supposed that was accurate. He had always been responsible only for himself in his work, and he was certainly not used to working with a team. He had assumed that by recruiting him, she would have already taken that into account.
“Perhaps you should tell me the nature of what you require of me, Shepard.”
She turned to him from the window, though only partway, as he had been looking at her before.
“It’s not as if we’re prepared to go directly to the Omega 4 relay,” she told him. “There will be other things to deal with. It could be months before we’re ready. I may need you for small jobs, not one-target assassinations. I need to know that you’re capable of moving with a squad and taking orders.”
He felt a mild tremor of irritation rise into his throat, making his frill pulse once. Only once.
“It was my supposition that you recruited me because you understood my skillset.”
“I didn’t find you on my own,” she revealed. “You were recommended to me. I read the dossier, but I didn’t spend ceaseless hours pondering your psyche.”
“So you approach me as a target without even studying me?” He did not quite understand this. It was not at all how he would set out to do a job. To him, it was not how a professional would act.
“I get things done—”
“And ask questions later? Such as now?”
He was beginning to dislike this, and her. They were not at all alike. He had guessed as much when they had met in the penthouse, and now he was beginning to feel attacked. Thane could be civil, yes, but he would not tolerate disrespect either.
She turned to face him fully, arms still crossed. He truly looked her over then, and he found himself taking down new notes.
There are marks on her face other than her scars. Small dots across her cheeks, splashed there without pattern. There are colorful designs down her right arm. Tattoos, hidden partially by her sleeve, stretching to her wrist. Though what they all are, I cannot say. Her mane, starkly red, rolls over her shoulder. She is thin, muscular. Her presence is domineering.
She might have gotten angry with him at his words, and he wondered if she might take on a demanding tone, to presume to tell him what he would and would not do, as if she could. He did not get what he anticipated, however.
“Tell me what you bring to the table,” she requested, “in your own words.”
He merely looked at her.
“I am what I am, Shepard. So if you read the report on me, you should know.”
Thane knew there was more to him than what she had likely read, but he had already put up walls against her. He should be thankful that she was asking, yet he could not bring himself to be just now.
“I want to hear it from your own mouth,” she returned.
“To what end, if you have already decided on your perception?”
He was being difficult, but something that he did not understand was pushing him to test her, to probe for her integrity, her grit.
“You should know that I don’t mean to underestimate you, Krios. I’m aware of what you’re capable of.”
“Are you?” He stared at her, eyes wide, meeting that challenge. She observed him as he observed her, arms crossed over her chest, peering into his eyes with inhibition. She spoke.
“You have exemplary gun skills and your hand-to-hand combat is unparalleled. You’re also a biotic. And, my guess, you’ve already decided exactly how to systematically kill everyone on this ship if you feel your hand is forced,” she assumed. “Am I wrong?”
The more she spoke, the more he guessed he was right about her. She thought she knew what he was capable of, how he thought, but she was only making assumptions based on the idea of what an assassin was, not who he was.
“Perhaps in the past I might have made such a plan, but there is no need for it now. I will be dead soon enough. Weak before that, and not a threat to anyone. However, if you decided that it was your wish for this entire ship to be dead, then I would see to it without hesitation or remorse.”
She started at him. She was good at hiding her emotions, but he saw the waver in her eyes, the lowering of her brow.
“That simple, is it?”
“My body is a weapon. A weapon does not choose to kill. The one who wields it does.”
“And you have given me the right to wield this weapon,” she confirmed. “I have your arm.”
“And every part of me that is capable of killing.”
She watched him, studying him now, in the moment, instead of beforehand. Maybe that was how she worked. She did not plan. She dove in and perceived the situation as it presented, adjusting as she must.
“Is every part of you capable of killing?” she asked.
He tilted his head, willing to play into that. “Nearly.”
My hands are capable of stealing breath, drawing blood. My body works fluidly, transforming me into an agent of death. But not my soul. It is not spotless, but its intentions are pure.
But that was not something she needed to hear. This conversation had nothing to do with his spiritual side, and he did not have to confess to her. She did not need a sermon.
“So you will kill for me?” she said thoughtfully, never breaking her gaze. “All I have to do is say ‘go’.”
“Of course. Is that not why you recruited me?”
Or do you still not know why you did?
She leaned back then, fixing her gaze anew, the flames of her hair illuminating her face like a burning halo.
“I recruited you because you’re said to be the most skilled assassin in the galaxy.” There was an edge to her voice, but he bore the sharpness of it for the jolt of pride he gained. He would not argue with that assessment. “I recruited you because I need the best, the most skilled in every respect, for this mission. But I need more from you than just your skill. I need more than your arm. I need to know that you can play nice.”
“Don’t insult me, Shepard,” he warned. “You make assumptions based on my profession. I am no thug, but don’t mistake me for a common soldier. Yes, I work alone. I act without mercy. My target is my focus, and their death is my goal. I am a killer, and I feel nothing.”
He was trying to intimidate her, to show her that even though he would work for her, he would not be bullied. He still had his own thoughts, after all. It had taken him a long time to learn how to employ them, and he would not let go of that.
She appraised him once more, unmoved. Yet again, he had not appeared to make her angry. Was he? No. No… Once again, he felt nothing.
“I think there’s more to you than that, isn’t there?”
Hm? He was caught off guard, his firm declaration slipping past him. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the tone of the conversation? He would have to replay it later, but for now, she had managed to twist him around her every word.
“You said as much when I met you,” she continued levelly. “‘The measure of an individual cannot be determined by actions alone’, or something like that.” She had said it exactly. “You protected those salarian workers from Nassana’s guards by locking them up.” She knew? “You said a prayer over a dead woman, asking forgiveness for yourself. You said you were concerned about the disappearance of the colonists, even though they are human—because they are innocent. You seem to genuinely care about stopping the Collectors—enough to do this mission pro-bono. The way you spoke of making the universe a brighter place sounds more like a vigilante than an assassin.”
He listened to her speaking of him, watched her. Perhaps he had been more standoffish than he should have—more aggressive. He blinked, his second set of eyelids flashing involuntarily.
“Whatever you are, and whatever you believe,” she went on, “I just need to know that you’re willing to do what needs to be done, not only for the sake of the mission, but for the sake of the team.”
Thane felt a bit foolish, but there was no need to dwell on it. His mind backtracked. Perhaps he had misused his own mantra. He had been taken aback by the idea that she had judged him, and yet he had judged her unfairly. There was no reason to be petty. He would correct.
“I apologize for the miscommunication, Shepard,” he said, and watched her eyes widen in surprise. “I work for you, and I will do my best work for you. I will…adapt.”
She studied him, and he bore her gaze.
“Good,” she said. He blinked, finding himself confused by her. She was…not what he expected after all. “I want you out in the field when the next opportunity arises. I want to see for myself how this will work.”
She had challenged him. He would accept.
“I will await your word, Shepard,” he agreed.
When she left him, Thane found himself playing through their conversation over and over. He engaged the photographic memory which was a hallmark of his species, growing more and more dismayed with himself for his emotional reaction to her, and his suppositions. He had not acted on emotion in a long time either. She was not what he had expected at all.
He decided that when next they spoke, things would be different.