Standard disclaimers: I do not own BioWare, Mass Effect 1 or 2, or Thane Krios. Yes. This does make me sad sometimes.

Protective Instincts

The oceans of Kahje held such a vast amount of life that it sometimes seemed too plentiful to be completely catalogued. It was not uncommon to hear in the daily news reports that a new species had been discovered or an evolutionary off-shoot uncovered.

Within such a variety there were, of course, differences. Size, mode of locomotion, method of consuming food. A variety that encompassed everything from creatures of the depths creating their own light to creatures of the shallows taking short flights into the empty air.

Yet it was very rare to find any creature that didn't look as if it had been made by the same flowing hand as its other planet-mates. Survival in an ocean encouraged its own sort of template and it was one of graceful curves and flowing contours. Protrusions were based on arcs rather than angles and even the antennae or feelers of the bottom dwellers were at least off-set by rounded claws and bodies.

The Drell were not of Kahje. Arms, legs, noses. All horribly inefficient for swimming. All lines. It was a difference that was observed rather than commented on. As a very young man, Thane Krios had been rather taken aback when confronted with the ship that was to bring him to his first assignment away from his home world. A refurbished Volus cargo ship, the Open Hand had been built on rectangles. Sturdy. A rock when everything Thane had ever really known, at least directly, had always been touched somehow by water.

He got used to it.

In time, he rarely thought of it anymore. Even if he'd been unprofessional enough to seek out transports that reminded him of home, it was a near impossibility. The Hanar had few ships and those they had built for themselves alone weren't designed for Drell comfort in mind. Thane quickly became a connoisseur of the renovated, the out-of-date, and the flying death-traps that were the staples of under-the-radar travel. They frequently stank, were often riddled with condensation problems, and were invariably loud and slow. Exploration of their depths, mapping duct-works and preparing escape routes as was his trained habit, gave him an easy affinity with them that amused him more often than not.

The SSV Normandy SR-2 was nothing like those ships. She was built on lines, but they were lines that moved, drawing the eye from one point to another. Thrusters were flattened, reminding him of flippers and the tower at the back reminded him of a dorsal fin. He would not say that looking at her reminded him of Kahje, exactly. It was clearly a human vessel and bore its creator's stamp undeniably. However, it had a familiarity to it and he found that faintly, but notably, pleasing.

Normandy's interior was just as agreeable as its exterior. It was bright enough to cast away shadows but not forbid them entirely. It was clean and neat without smelling of antiseptic. The air, at least in Life Support, was dry and soothing to his lungs. Since coming aboard, he very rarely found himself waking, gasping for the oxygen that his body was slowly tiring of fighting for.

Perhaps that was why he hadn't yet mapped out all the ducts to the point of boredom.

Yet.

As he shrugged on his jacket he imagined that he'd reach the limit of where he could, in good hospitality, go tonight. He could have hacked, by-passed or slipped his way into secured areas but he was reluctant to do so without specific need. Still, it was late. Most of the crew was asleep and Shepard was off-ship. The opportunity was there and one did not ignore it. Besides, his meditations were strangely less than soothing tonight and action was better than idleness.

They were docked at Omega, a station he had visited more than a few times. The last was to assassinate a woman dealing tainted and exceptionally addictive red sand. There'd been rumors that Aria T'Loak, self-styled but uncontested ruler of the station, had been financing the human. She knew about almost everything that occurred on her station, and while Thane had not been seen, someone had hinted that a Drell might have been involved in the execution. It wasn't the main reason that Thane had wished to sit out this expedition but it was the reason he'd been prepared to give Shepard had she asked.

She had not asked.

Hours earlier she had left the ship with the Justicar Samara and Garrus Vakarian. From what Thane had gathered, the Justicar had heard that the criminal she'd been tracking on Illium was aboard the station. It seemed slightly odd that they should be delaying the mission to retrieve the IFF from the derelict ship just to capture a murderer. However, Thane couldn't really protest the tangent. He wasn't a hypocrite. Shepard had taken him to the Citadel only a week or so ago and allowed him to try to guide his son to a brighter path than his own.

It was a kindness that he did not take for granted, even if it hadn't been entirely unexpected. A woman who would let repentant mercenaries go free and calm hysterical civilians rather than remove them had at least a higher than likely chance of granting a dying comrade's wish. He was a comrade by now, of that he was certain. It was rare that the woman in N7 armor wasn't flanked by a turian on one side and a drell on the other when she left the ship. They made a good team and though he was more used to working alone there was certain symmetry in it. Shepard had a habit of charging forward, preferring closer encounters that brought her into the heart of the fight. Explosions and gunfire. She was the red flag that drew the enemy's aim, Garrus was the long arm that picked off targets at a distance, while he was the knife they never saw coming from behind.

He'd held her safety in his hands any number of times now, just as she had his.

Comrades. Certainly.

They had spoken, too. The only other one who actually sought him out in Life Support was Yeoman Chambers. Kelly, as she'd requested he call her. He would hear the sound of the door opening only to sense Shepard striding up to him. She had a purpose of step that wasn't unprecedented in his experience but there were no other females aboard this ship, at least, that matched it. Yeoman Chambers sauntered.

Shepard … advanced.

It wasn't quite the right word but he was still watching after all. He'd find the exact nuance he meant soon enough. In any case, those steps heralded interesting conversations and a give and take that seemed almost too easy. He spoke of the planet he'd not seen in years now and she spoke more quietly than he was accustomed to hearing from her elsewhere.

He'd wanted her to help bring Kolyat back because of those conversations. Not because he'd wanted her gun. It was, in retrospect, a very good thing he had gotten the gun though as well. While he probably would have succeeded in stopping his son before he did something he couldn't undo even without Shepard's help, he had no doubt it would have not gone as well.

Thane smiled. Impatient but not imprudent. She had hardly waited a beat before she was shooting the display down and punching a shocked Kolyat across the face. Without that, without her connections with Captain Bailey, there wouldn't be this fragile new understanding between him and his son.

Sunlight on light skinned child, raising his hands up, "Pick me up, Daddy, pick me up!" while she laughed and watched them from the doorway…

He understood the need to finish things. He did not begrudge the Justicar her right to have Shepard assist. Yet, that was the main reason to be glad to stay aboard the ship, even if watching the trio stride out had felt vaguely inappropriate. He did not yet know whether the Justicar's morals extended to righting the wrongs of an assassin's past. He'd rather delay finding that out as long as he could.

He got in the elevator and chose CIC. The ride up, which always seemed to go slowly, was lost in the memory of what access points led where. There was one along the port side that had a branching, but he was certain it led up into the Tech Lab. The aft-starboard-aft- port-port-down-fore path was more promising. The elevator doors slid open and he stepped out.

There was always a crewman manning at least one of the consoles in CIC. The ship flew, even at night, and even at port the watch had its place. Thane wasn't surprised to see Crewman Hadley, leaned back in his chair. That Hadley was paying a great deal of attention to a female by one of the terminals was deemed only unusual for the split second it took to process several realizations.

Firstly, that the woman was almost half-naked. He couldn't tell for sure from this angle, but since the shirt she wore seemed to lack a back, leaving everything beneath the dark collar at her throat down to the curve of her backside bare, it had to be at least twenty-five percent. The netting that was worked in her pants he counted as 'non-clothing' as well.

She was also typing into Commander Shepard's private terminal, body language unbothered and unhurried.

Ah. While there was at least one other woman with hair about the same color who might possibly have a reason to do that, Thane never once made the mistake of thinking this was Yeoman Chambers.

Commander Shepard it was, then.

He could see why this warranted Hadley's attention.

"Hadley," Shepard's familiar voice was tinged with wry amusement and iron.

Hadley straightened up, sharply, "Uh, yes Ma'am?"

"Your screen is in front of you. Not on my shirt."

"No, Ma'am! I mean, yes Ma'am!" the crewman's face was a study in human mortification as he spun back to his station. Thane's lips pulled upwards. Now he was curious.

"Shepard," he announced himself.

She looked over her shoulder at him. She'd done something to her eyes, colored the area just beneath them almost like a drell's. Much thinner, though. Perhaps a line or two. Eyeliner, that was what it was called. "Thane," she nodded, "You are up late."

"As are you," he walked over. There were scars on her side. A light webbing of them that blended in well until one got closer. Ah, there is where the shirt started. Just along the ribcage. Feminine curves covered, though by material that was very tight, and the dramatics of a completely bared back as an off-set. Mystery solved, he looked back up at her.

She was looking back at him, her eyes somewhat narrowed. She raised one brow. Waiting. Daring?

"I take it that the Justicar has found her quarry?" Thane prompted placidly.

Shepard exhaled as she apparently let him slide. She looked back to the console and started to log out of her messages. "Yes and no. We know that Morinth is in one of the nightclubs. The easiest way to draw her out is to give her a target." An impression of a smirk touched her mouth, "Hence the clothing."

"I'm not sure I understand," Thane admitted. "Why would you be a target for an asari criminal?"

"Because Samara thinks so?" Shepard offered and then turned to face him, arms going over her chest in a professional manner that had distinctly non-professional results considering her anatomy and clothing. Still, she elaborated, "Morinth is something called an Ardat-Yakshi. She seduces people and ends up killing them when they join. She just recently murdered her most recent victim. So, theoretically, she's looking for another."

"I see," Thane said and paused a beat. It felt like he should say more. "I'm sure you'll make a very tempting target," he said formally.

She laughed a breath, "Thanks for the reassurance. I just hope that she's at the club tonight. If I've got to go out more than once to wait for some asari to invite me back to her place, it'll get tedious."

He cocked his head to the side, "Invite you back to her place? To minimize the risk of innocent civilians getting caught in the cross-fire, I take it?"

"That's the plan," she straightened up and dropped her arms. "Morinth invites me back home, Samara trails us both at a safe distance, then charges in to take her out."

"And if something happens to delay the Justicar?" Thane asked, growing uneasy.

Shepard shrugged, "I'll just have to play it by ear. I'm not exactly attracted to asari and I can take care of myself."

"That's not a matter for debate," Thane assured, "but you aren't armed." He didn't have to ask about that. He could tell.
The Commander nodded, "It's not ideal, I agree with you, but she's been hunting and killing people for four hundred years now. She hasn't gone uncaught by being careless and we can't risk her pulling back because she sees a gun on me. Easy target is the goal."

A crowded club. Loud music. A canny predator. The advantage of knowing the city. The disadvantage of having an almost painfully direct and shining asari Justicar trying to surreptitiously trail.

Following a target meant deception. A willingness to fade into the background. To be something that did not act but reacted.

He … did not believe that Samara could do this.

And he did not believe that such an old murderer would not take precautions.

Thane stayed silent for a long few moments.

"Anyway, I should go," Shepard said. She tucked hair back behind one ear.

"Of course," Thane said and reached into the sleeve of his jacket, "Take this."

She blinked and reached out slowly for the blade, almost impossibly thin in its sheath. "It's… I've never seen anything like that."

"It is unique," Thane nodded. "It is also difficult to wield. Since it was forged so thin it is more whip than blade. There is no proper hilt, only a place where it has not been sharpened. Wrap your hand in cloth, if you can, or it will cut you even as you use it." He gestured, indicating her clothing. "I'd recommend along your belt line, just in case, but you can place it up your sleeve as well."

She looked up at him and smiled "Thank you, Thane." She was pleased.

"You are welcome, Commander," he inclined his head.

As she turned to walk back to the hatch he watched her tuck the knife away.

He waited until the airlock cycled before making his way fore as well.

Then he began following her.

Authors Notes:

The more I write about Thane's thought processes and the Mass Effect 2 world the more I risk bringing up something that isn't canon. For example, I honestly don't know if the Hanar home world is supposed to be very fertile. It makes sense to me and based on the research I could do it is, but I might be wrong. I ask for forgiveness for potential deviations like that and a touch of willing suspension of disbelief. Please, however, feel free to message me and let me know when I got it wrong so that if I can correct it – it can get corrected. Thanks!