Chapter Text
This beach, she decided, was just about perfect. It reminded her of a postcard of Earth she'd once kept tacked to the wall of her tiny bunk during basic training. Pristine white sand stretched to infinity, bordered by lush jungle on one side; on the other was a flawless aquamarine sea.
She crossed her legs in front of her and watched tiny waves washing up on the edge of the sand, the wind and the soft lapping of water the only sounds she could hear. Warm sun spilled over her freckled shoulders, exposed by the thin straps of her tank top.
She tilted her face up to bathe in the heat for a moment, then turned her attention back to scanning the beach. As soon as she noted that she appeared to be totally alone here, she became aware of a presence beside her.
Turning to her left, she saw him: skin a brilliant emerald green, stripes that wrapped over his shoulders and disappeared beneath his shirt, dark eyes that were almost black. He wore white, the fabric accented with threads of vivid magenta that matched the folds on his cheeks. His feet, like hers, were bare.
"It's good to see you, Shepard." His voice was almost a rumble, deep and a bit rough, but kind.
She had no clue where he'd come from, but it felt right for him to be there, so she didn't question it. He clearly knew her, but even though she knew what he was — a drell, if she remembered her xenology studies correctly — she couldn't say she had any idea who he was.
She smiled at him anyway, because for some reason, not knowing didn't matter. "Have we met?" she asked.
He returned the smile fondly. "Not yet."
She narrowed her eyes at him with playful skepticism. "Time flows differently here," he offered as explanation. "You don't know me. But you will."
Shepard drew in a breath, but before she got any words out she realized that what he was saying made perfect sense somehow, just as finding him here next to her had. Instead of pressing the point, she accepted it with a nod.
"All right—" she stopped short, looking at him expectantly, and he chuckled before supplying his name, "—Thane," she pronounced, letting the unfamiliar sound roll off her tongue. "Where are we?"
"At the shore," he replied. His tone was gentle, like he was worried he might startle her.
Frowning slightly, she lifted a handful of warm sand. It glittered in her palm before slipping through her fingers. "Why can't I remember how I got here?"
"Many who arrive here don't." He watched her carefully while giving the indirect answer. "But if you are certain you wish to remember, I think you'll find that you can."
A pang of disquiet rippled through her — maybe she didn't want to remember — but a second later she made her decision, and she jumped when she was engulfed by the memory.
Terror. Terror was the main thing she was aware of now. She was cold, alone, wheeling through the black above a dark planet that was visible only as a razor-thin curve of light defining its edge. A hissing sound filled her ears as all the precious oxygen leaked from her suit. The terror had become everything — the only thing — and it made Akuze look like a pleasant Sunday stroll.
Grabbing at the back of her neck, she tried desperately to find the breach and seal it. But the hissing persisted, then gradually started to fade, a merciless and unstoppable countdown. Impossibly, her fear amplified, and black fog began to encroach on the edges of her vision. She wasn't sure if it was the panic or the last gasp of air leaving her lungs that finally pushed her into a world of white light.
She exhaled sharply and rubbed her forehead until the last of the lingering fear was gone. "Ah. I... died."
Concern was etched on his face. "So it would seem."
An odd response — how could it only seem like she'd died? — but he didn't elaborate and she didn't feel up to asking just then. For the first time, the constant breeze felt chilly rather than pleasant. She shuddered and drew her legs in closer to her body. Far off in the distance where sky met sea, she saw a bank of storm clouds that she hadn't noticed before.
Thane was stroking his thumb over her upper arm softly as reassurance, and she was grateful for the comfort. She placed a hand over his and their fingers threaded together automatically. The gesture should have felt strange, holding hands with someone she'd just met, but instead it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
When the shivering subsided, Shepard gave him a rueful smile. "I suppose that makes you my guardian angel."
"I suppose it does," he mused. "Nothing can harm you here, but if there is any way I can help, you need only ask."
"I will." She reached down between her feet and plucked a seashell from the sand, rubbing her thumb over the smooth, iridescent purple inner surface. "But I just need time. To... I don't know. Think."
"Of course, siha." He gave her hand one more squeeze before standing. "Take all the time you need."
She thanked him quietly and flipped the shell over, running her fingers over its bone-white ridges. When it occurred to her a second later to wonder what the word siha meant, she turned to ask, but the question died on her tongue — he was gone.