AN: So I finally decided to post something. This has been taking over my mind since I first played ME2, and it would not leave. Please provide criticism if you have time. I think the ending is a little forced and too fast, but I don't want to worry over it now. Please, please, please point out any little spelling or grammar mistakes. They aggravate me. Hehe.

I wanted to write something that compared Fem!Shepard and Irikah, something that delved into Thane's past relationship more. Their love touches me very much, and I felt there needed to be more beyond what the game provided. I also wanted something bittersweet and sad, but couldn't bring myself to write of Thane's death. (He lived through my game, and I refuse to read anything involving his Kepral's Syndrome. It makes me too sad. lol) Hopefully he's in character, and the Shepard has a hint of Paragon-y without being too defined that you can't see many different Shepards in her position. I hope you enjoy. x]

Sunrise

Her lips are soft and full, igniting so many memories of his beloved Irikah. He has come to appreciate his commander's alien form, with the foreign but enticing curves and the golden, supple skin. He often draws lazy patterns along her network of scars. A few are sharp and ragged, the skin a mottle of pinks pulled too tautly over her body. Many are thin and light, the results of a surgical operation reawakening her after two long years.

Yet, he muses, she was not truly awakened then, just as he was not upon the discovery of his dear Kolyat, the only good thing he ever brought into this doomed galaxy. It was not until they found each other that either was truly alive. Not the mundane, biological definition of a beating heart and a flowing transmission between neurons, but the deeper meaning. It was the high you felt when your heart was beating for a reason, in synch with the soft thudding of another's pressed against your bare chest. It was when those little messages weren't traveling to make your finger pull a trigger, but when they were bringing back memories of passion and guiding soft confessions from swollen lips.

He studies her now, sleeping peacefully beside him. She is nestled against him, her face nuzzled in the crook of his neck. Her hand is clasped in his own, unable to properly link with his fused fingers. He enjoys holding her hands. The fingers are long and the pads are calloused, worn from pulling so many triggers and catching so many hard falls. They are not entirely unlike Irikah's, small and warm. The soft blue light from the fish tank illuminates them, mingling with the natural bronze to create a green hue. He inhales a shaky breath, so aware of how very similar his siha are.

Shepard mumbles something indistinct, shifting slightly to cuddle deeper into the covers. Her hand wiggles free of his, pressing up against his chest. Her fingers are splayed, the heat warming his skin and reminding him of the deserts he wishes to see. If he makes it that long, he will take her with him.

He gazes at her face, so very relaxed in peaceful slumber. He raises a hesitant hand, scared that he might disturb her. It is difficult to find her so serene, so comfortable. Her face it usually harder, the brows furrowed in concentration. Even when the turian makes her laugh, the light only sometimes enters her eyes, for they are always peering ahead, into the future and the inevitable threat she faces. She is terrified, he knows, but she will never tell, bound by her position as leader to play the proper, confident role. Only in these stolen moments can he revel in her truly calm expression, finding comfort in her comfort.

He brushes his finger along her temple, gently pushing the dark strands from her face. They are soft and twirl easily around his knuckles. They are choppy, unlike Miranda's lush, voluminous locks, but they are still so foreign to him. Her hair is something he cherishes, another new feature that makes her unique, that always reminds him just which siha he is cradling against his chest.

He lets his hand trail down, following her brows. They are yet another part Irikah never had, and he pays close attention to them. The way they arch and wriggle helps bring expression to her face, helps her convey her feelings. They dip in harshly when she is angered, but rise and slope gently when she is amused. His own brows can move subtly, but her dark hairs help make them more defined.

She takes a deep breath, sighing contently. It tickles his skin, sending a tingle down his spine. His heart swells with love for her, and he feels as though he may cry. He controls himself, the greatest skill of an assassin as successful as he. She has seen him cry once before, has seen him lose such control and lash out, denting a desk in his own fear. He too will not let her see him like that ever again. She brings a new strength to him, the very one he lost when Irikah was given to the sea.

His wishes her eyes would open. They are the most pleasing part of her face. They are much smaller than Irikah's, and have only one set of eyelids. The edges are lined with thick, curling lashes that she often bats at him suggestively. He has seen them crinkle in laughter and flood with salty tears, has seen them stalk a target and rake across his body. And suddenly, he remembers.

A warm grip on his shoulder. Comfort, forgiveness. Her voice drifts, calms his tense frame. Thane. She turns him, cups his cheek.

He shudders, pulling the human closer, nuzzling his face into her hair. Another memory consumes him.

Sunset eyes defiant in the scope. Her body trembles. Not fear, indignation. Her mouth moves. How dare you?

He groans, frustrated. It is hard dealing with such memories. He regrets what he told Shepard. Memories of despair are not as terrible as those all-consuming memories of elation that threaten to resurface at the worst of times. It pains him inside, but sometimes he wishes he could forget those moments with Irikah. He wishes he could push them down, locked away lest they threaten his new siha. He just wants to move on, but he owes her so much, too much. She showed him a life beyond his work and she brought him Kolyat. He can never repay her.

"Thane?" He peers down at her as the deep blue of her irises begin to appear. He regrets waking her. He almost mutters an apology but realizes that it will only confuse her. He feels remorse for disturbing his lover, but has no sense of guilt for those he has killed? Instead, he brushes his thumb against her cheek, smooth despite the small scars. So very smooth and soft without the ridges and scales. Her lips, so similar to Irikah's, curl upwards in a gentle smile and press against his neck.

He sighs in appreciation, gathering her closer in his arms. "Yes, siha?" Her eyes twinkle when he calls her that. She is not 'Commander' or 'Shepard', but a warrior-angel much revered to his people. He knows his own huge, dark orbs light up; he is happy he can please her with a simple word. She does not respond but lifts her leg and presses gently between his thighs until he lets her nestle between them. He drops his hand from her face and curls in behind her neck, rubbing circles just below her hair line. He sees her lips part and her nostrils flare slightly, feels her grow warmer and her heartbeat increase. She is all around him, protecting and comforting. He does not deserve her, does not deserve to have two sihas when most are lucky to find even one. But his days are numbered and he will spend every moment giving and taking this happiness until he falls to the sea.

She looks up at him, her thin neck stretched back revealing small marks of red and purple. He will have to be gentler with her, but she pulls at a part inside of him, makes him fall to his passion. And she encourages it, begging for more, nipping at his own flesh. It is a soft pain that makes them both feel so alive and keeps him rooted in the present, not swept away by strong memories. She watches him staring and runs her hand against one of the bruises, pushing it softly. He catches her wrist and pries the hand from her neck, wraps it in his own. Then he looks into her eyes and grows still. They are a dark blue, like the infinite ocean that seeks to pull his very soul in.

Irikah's were warm and sunset-colored. Her very being rested atop the rippling waters, gently warming the world with her protective nature while encouraging new life to rise. She was the healer that first brought him to open his eyes with her guiding light. For a long time, she had been the very center of his world. But then she dipped below the horizon, and he was lost to wander in the dark alone.

It was not until he walked too far to the edge of the world that the cool salt water lapped at his skin. He had sought to fling himself into the dark pool and allow his body to drift to the bottom of the sea. And yet he had floated on that thin line between the open sky and the abysmal depth. Shepard stirred him awake once more, illuminated his world with bright stars. She had calmed him, showed him the sky was just as beautiful without a sun and that the sea could bring life as easy as it could take it. Irikah had made him alive and Shepard had awakened him to the wonders this life provided.

Lost in his thoughts and memories, he does not realize he is crying until she brushes the tears away. He feels ashamed again, but this time he is facing his past instead of his future. She coos and rocks him gently like the tide, stroking his face and shoulders. He knows it is too much to hold in, and suddenly he cannot resist spilling himself to her.

"Siha, I miss her," he whispers, his croaking voice hoarse and raw. He expects to see pain dance across her features, braces for the emptiness he will feel when she rolls away, too hurt to face him. He closes his eyes, unable to confront the torment he has just unleashed. Instead, she surprises him yet again.

Her own eyes swim with tears, but her lips curl into a smile. She places her forehead against his, her hands grasp either side of his face. Her thumbs stroke his temples and brows, and she wills him to open his eyes. He cannot tear his gaze from her own, feeling his soul float into the dark blue.

"Thane." Her voice is so quiet and delicate. She nuzzles her nose against his, rubs her leg between his thighs. "Thane, there is no reason to be upset."

In that moment he almost feels the urge to cry out, to scream. No reason? He caused the death of his first love, and even now he lets her memory haunt him, dancing a barrier between them. He cannot let go, cannot move on and it shackles him to the ground away from his beloved commander. He has finally built a relationship with his son after all of these years, protected Kolyat from falling into his cursed footsteps. He has settled everything with the living, and yet he cannot let the dead lie.

And then his selfishness attacks him and a coldness bubbles into his chest. Tiny, sharp tendrils of pain, loss, and guilt dig into his heart and constrict his failing lungs. How dare he wish away his Irikah, his love, the mother of his son? He owes her everything, but he only wants her gone so that he may find peace with a new lover. He deserves neither of them. He should have drowned, sunk to the bottom of the ocean where the sun could not warm him and the waves and stars could not comfort him. He has atoned for his evil, meditated and prayed to right his wrongs, but he is still suffering, still torn.

She sees the anger, the guilt, the pain flash within his eyes and contort his features. His hand closes into a tight fist, and he pulls away from her body, untangling his limbs. He moves to stand, but she grabs him and pulls him into her chest, holds him tightly when he struggles to wrench himself free. He feels her envelope him, and he falls prey to the comfort and love she brings him. His presses his lips against hers greedily, begging for acceptance and forgiveness. He prays to many gods, swearing that if they can just bring him peace and absolve him from this guilt he will give her everything he still has.

Unexpectedly, she pulls away. The monster in his chest squeezes with such force that he swears he can feel his heart break. He hangs his head and releases her from his embrace. He feels her hand cup his jaw but he refuses to acknowledge it, refuses to acknowledge her. They were never meant to be.

"Thane, please. Just… look at me. We can talk about this. About anything. Please." Her voice cracks in several places, and he thinks her heart must have broken too. He hears a tiny sob wrack her form and she reaches for him, tries to touch him everywhere, tries to just make a connection, to pull him back from inside himself. But he has buried himself deep where neither siha can reach him.

"Thane, I love you. Don't ever question that," she cries. Somehow her confession and assumption both sneak inside him. Her love warms his heart and gives him hope, pushes back that dark thing in his chest. It unfurls the tendrils just as she gently unfurls his fisted fingers. At that same moment, the belief that he could ever question her never ending love for him forces him to respond, to assuage her fears.

"I would never, siha. It is not your love for me, nor my love for you. I am broken between two forces, between two loves, two sihas. I cannot gaze upon you without seeing a remnant of Irikah. I cannot remember her without recalling a kiss between us. You are both so different, yet so similar, that I cannot do anything but fail you both." His voice has almost left him. It shames him.

"You don't have to compare and contrast. You don't have to choose. I am grateful for Irikah because she made you who you are. She gave me this man I love. Without her…" Her own voice flees. He understands with sudden clarity. Words will bring no solace here. They need only each other.

He reaches for her face, that same tentative gesture. He wipes away her tears, and brushes against her wet lips. She smiles again, and her eyes crinkle. It is bittersweet, but he knows they are moving on. He sees Irikah's beautiful face, and he says goodbye one last time. The memory falls to the back of his mind so that he can live this, live now. He feels no shame in surrendering his Irikah. She was loving and protective. She will forgive him for everything, he knows. She was the beginning of his journey, of his very life.

Shepard will be with him until the sea must gently pull him under. His beloved will guide him until that moment, and then drift with him below the current. Irikah was his beginning, Shepard will be his end.

He cannot see it from within the Normandy's walls, but he knows he faces the sunrise.