Mozandyr-Shev Sciences Inc. had not been designed with patient comfort in mind, being as it were more of a research facility than a typical medical centre. Facilities for examinations and treatments were present, but features such as calmly decorated waiting rooms or private suites were foreign concepts in the large open plan space. At least the lack of Gods awful muzak was a plus. 

Everywhere the eye was drawn was a feast of the sci-fi fantastic; lab benches scattered with all manner of gruesome gizmos and gadgets, flasks bubbling with questionable substances, holo-screens running simulations that looked straight out of a horror game. 

Looks can be deceiving of course, and while this was hardly a location one might want to wile away a pleasant afternoon, the laboratory had come to be a place Thane knew he would eventually treasure in his memories. Probably. Hopefully. Today will tell.

He rolls his head side to side, trying to ease the tension building up inside him as the minutes slowly trickle by. The movement nudges Kolyat and Garrus, wedged as they are so tightly either side of him on the far too small sofa. The loveseat looked suspiciously like the ones down in the main lobby of the commercial building, Thane suspecting it had been dragged up there by one of the doctors after a previous, ahem, incident.

Great crashing sound, cracking glass. Panicked exclamation in a flanged voice, “Shit shit shit! Sorry!” Doctor Mozandyr extends one long tentacle, pulls aside the plastic sheeting, revealing the lab to our view. Garrus on the floor, scooping up parts of a broken data pad. Swivel chair upturned beside him. “I’ll pay for that!”

Office chairs designed for salarians turned out to be ill equipped for restless, twitchy turians.

When Thane had next attended the laboratory, the love seat had appeared.

For today’s appointment both his lover and his son had insisted on accompanying him, leading to the three of them awkwardly crammed together now. At first Garrus had opted to stand, but his pacing earned him increasing glares from the impatient Dr.Shev. The salarian was hovering over a nearby bench, armed with tweezers and a petri dish that Thane could have sworn squawked every now and then. After Garrus’ pacing had him brush against a table, the contents wobbling precariously, Shev had turned to the turian and brandished the tweezers in a way that could only be described as menacing. He spoke in a clipped tone, eyes narrowed, clicking the tweezers furiously to emphasise each word. “Please make use of waiting facilities, Mr Vakarian.” Garrus had sheepishly withdrawn to the sofa, Kolyat and Thane hastily shuffling to make room for his large frame, Kolyat barely suppressing a snort. 

Now the three of them sat in growing silent tension. Garrus’ pointy hip spurs were digging into Thane’s left side, whilst the leathers of his and Kolyat’s coats made loud squeaking, scraping noises every time anyone so much as inhaled too hard. It might not have been physically the most comfortable of positions but Thane was comforted nonetheless, surrounded by loved ones, and grateful beyond comprehension for their presence. Even his eidetic memory couldn’t help him explain exactly how he’d come to be so incredibly blessed; what precise actions this past year had granted him such love and mercy at what should have been the bitter end of a lonely death. There weren’t enough words or prayers to express his thanks. His debts to the gods and the people around him would be lifelong in repayment, and he would pay them gladly, however long that would be. 

Today will tell.

At the far end of the laboratory the familiar click and whoosh of a pneumatic door sounds, Doctor Mozandyr emerging from that one’s office. With a last brief prayer calling for the strength to accept whatever is to come, Thane stands and takes a few steps forward. He feels his companions rise behind him, guardian shadows at his back, and is struck with familiarity; their formation so much like Shepard’s preferred teams of three when entering battle. Their ‘squad’, as they liked to call them. Thane supposes that fighting against Kepral’s has been a battle in its own right, and he couldn’t have asked for a better squad to have at his back.

Mozandyr detours towards Dr.Shev, briefly leaning down to share some hushed words, and Thane takes the moment to glance behind him.

Kolyat is standing tall, trying to appear stoic, but his sub-vocal song rumbles a jumbled mix of worry and projected comfort. He’s scared, but being so very brave. Garrus has moved in close beside him, and though he may not comprehend what the sub-vocals are saying, he can hear the notes emanating from the young man. He lifts a hand and places it on kolyat’s shoulder, squeezing there and holding. A tone of gratitude layers into Kolyat’s song, and a sound that indicates a familial fondness. Thane’s heart warms, and with a soft smile at them both he turns towards the approaching hanar, braced for what is to come with the knowledge that he is backed with their support.

The hanar doctor finishes conversing with Shev, the two coming to stand before Thane. 

“Sere Krios, this one apologises profusely for the delay. Doctor Solus wanted to review the results themselves. The live connection to Sur'kesh was proving, ah…” 

They pause, searching for a polite way to word their frustrations, though Thane notes with wry amusement that one’s bioluminescence is subtly flashing something that loosely translates to ‘piece of shit networks.’  Being away from other hanar for so long, this one was much less formal than you’d usually expect from its species. Or they had forgotten Thane could read them.

“...Difficult. The Professor has now finished the review and concurs with this one’s and Dr.Shev’s conclusions. Doctor Solus regrets that he cannot speak with you in person and sends regards. Ms.Lawson is regretfully out of contact range at this time.”

Dr.Shev clears his throat, continuing from his colleague.

“Would you like to come through to the offices for private consultation, or shall we speak here?” He glances at Kolyat and Garrus.

Thane pauses for a moment to consider. If today’s results aren’t good, would it be better to learn this in private, break it to Garrus and Kolyat quietly after a break for composure? His ears tune in to Kolyat’s song, still softly rumbling from behind, the support and courage offering him strength.

“Ah, my thanks, but we’ll take the news here, together.”

Doctor Shev bows his head in acknowledgement and proceeds, acknowledging the group as a whole.

“Very well. We tested 18 biopsy samples in total. Six from each lung, six more from organs most affected by kepral’s damage. All subjected to a barrage of stress tests to simulate effects of long term moisture exposure. One sample rendered inconclusive due to machine fault, will require further liver biopsy for full robust analysis, but conclusions still consistent enough to give results today.”

Thane dipped his chin in acknowledgement. He’d been forewarned there was always the possibility of errors. Only needing a single repeat seemed to be a positive thing.

“17 remaining biopsy samples completed testing correctly. Results conclusive. No signs of Kepral’s damage present. Treatments appear to have been successful.”

Time seems to stand still for a moment, the words frozen in the air as a litany of memories washes through Thane’s mind. He realises in that instant that even now, even after the past year or so of life changing growth and awakening, he hadn’t really believed he could escape his fate. Hadn’t believed he deserved it. That while he may have scraped enough extra time within this life to try to make amends, Kalahira’s shores were just one step ahead. 

It’s overwhelming, too many thoughts and feelings ready to drown him. To choke his lungs even if Kepral’s no longer will. 

A hand on each shoulder brings him back to the present. Teal scales and sable hide grip him, grounding him, and he lets out a long, slow breath, unaware he’d been holding it until now.

Through eyes that are rapidly misting over he looks up at the two doctors.

“I-” his voice hitches, and he clears his throat, so thick with emotion he can feel it like a physical weight. “I don’t know how to adequately convey my gratitude.” The moisture in his eyes reaches critical mass, spilling down his cheeks, tickling across his frills in heavy wet rivulets.

“Thank you.”

***

Two handmade clay cups of water sit on a wooden tray, words of a Rakhanan dialect remembered by so few ornately carved into its edges. With a low bow from his kneeling position, Thane reaches for the left cup, bringing it to his lips and speaking over the brim.

“Life is precarious. Should you will it, it is a gift easily rescinded.” He takes a sip, the brackish water an assault to his senses. his body calls to reject it, spit it out. Pushing past the call, he swallows against the ocean salt without fuss or grimace. He gently places it back onto the tray, and brings the second to his now parched mouth.

“Kalahira, you have granted this one the gift of life.” He sips once more. Fresh, cool water, potable and invigorating, washes across his tongue. It tastes like life.

“Kalahira, by your bidding, today I will not go to the sea. Kalahira, forgive this one for any despair. I treasure your gift. Kalahira, be praised.” He drains the cup, every precious drop an affirmation. His mixed emotions on receiving his results have left Thane in a self reflective mood. The remainder of the appointment at the lab lives like a strange kind of liminal dreamspace in his mind; he can of course recall every second in crystal clear detail, yet when he focuses on the emotions of it the picture becomes a cacophony, contradicting feelings muddying the memory. It is somewhat unsettling, and he knows that this day will take much deep meditation to be truly settled. For now, one thing is absolutely clear. He is alive, and he needs to start living to live, instead of preparing to die. 

He gives one last low bow, rafak kissing against the silky cloth he had laid across the floor to perform this private ceremony of thanks upon. With a final hum of his subvocals, he moves to stand and clear the makeshift altar away.

After the laboratory Garrus had to make a quick detour to C-Sec on his father’s behalf, but he would not be long. Soon he would join Thane at the apartment, and they only had the one night before he must return to Palaven early in the morning. Thane fully intended to make the most of their time together, and he had plans. There are other ceremonies that can be performed, life affirming and celebratory, that he can share with his lover.

He opens his closet, appraising the collection of leathers and armoured pieces, a wall of black filling most of the space. It takes a little digging to find the softer, less harsh pieces, and he removes every one he has, splaying them out across the bed as he strips naked, gently caressing his scales with smooth fingertips and teasing with claws as he reveals his form.

Touch. Feel. Embrace your sensuality.

The ritual of lovers has no solid rules, no key stages that must be reached. The God Vadaeus, monarch of lovers, intimacy, and pleasure, also revelled in spontaneity and the chaos of life. By their very nature, prayers and tributes to them were free formed, based on general ideas and not rules. Tuning into one's senses was perhaps the only true guiding principle.

Explore. Indulge. Embrace every texture, every temperature, awaken nerves. Feel.

Thane runs his hands over the clothes, closing his eyes as he lets other senses lead. Linens that release the scent of fields on a spring day, cottons so soft against his scales it feels like a caress, silk that runs across his palm like cool water. He finds himself drawn to that silk, the texture alluring, the symbolism of life affirming waters still fresh in his mind. Opening his eyes a warm smile and gentle flush runs across his frills.The shirt is of a deep royal blue. It will compliment his turians colourings beautifully. 

Placing the discarded shirts back in his closet, Thane selects a pair of indulgently soft ruched leggings to complete the outfit. They cling to his form in a way he knows Garrus enjoys immensely, while being much easier to remove than his standard leathers. Or easily torn open, if Garrus’ mood wills it.