Author's notes: The title is totally a rip-off of Carol O'Connell's book. Takes place after ME1, shortly prior to ME2. Underage non-con implied, but not explicit. A little something I wrote to get it out of my head to make more room for other nonsense. Sorry, no smut.
As far as everyone was concerned, Commander Shepard was born on Akuze at the age of 23, in the heat of battle, her birth accompanied by the screams of her squadmates as they were killed by the threshermaws. A few knew she was born on Earth, raised in the streets there, never knew her parents, but that was all anyone was told. Considering how eagerly the Commander inquired her crewmembers about their history, it was ironic how little she ever told anyone about herself. The subject of Jane Shepard's youth was never up for discussion.
Liara leaned her elbow to the desk and rested her chin in the cup of her hand as she read whatever intel was available of the Commander. She'd been curious about the beacon, but now she was more interested in figuring out just what was it about Shepard that made her... her. Liara hadn't known her for long, and she'd already witnessed the Commander survive things any average person would've crumbled under.
"I need a vacation," Liara heard Shepard's muffled voice grumble in the medbay.
"You wouldn't know what to do with yourself," Doctor Chakwas chuckled before proceeding to examine the Commander.
"Uh, Commander, the council wants to see you," Joker's voice called out over the intercom, and Shepard hung her head, growling a little.
"Tell them to fuck off, I'll just hang up on them if they keep calling."
"Yeah, they figured, which is why they want to see you in person," Joker responded, unable to keep himself from sounding very amused. The door opened and closed as the annoyed Commander exited.
When she returned some time later, Liara joined the rest of the crew in the comm room to listen to the briefing. She saw Shepard's lips move, but could barely hear a word she was saying, her mind too preoccupied to concentrate on the briefing. She heard being invited to join the crew on their next mission, and she agreed, and that was all she needed to hear for now.
Afterward, Liara made her way to the Captain's cabin and knocked on the door softly.
"What does a woman have to do in here to get a moment to herself, for crying out... Oh, Liara. Sorry, I didn't realize it was you," the Commander interrupted her rant when she saw the asari.
"I'm sorry, Shepard, I did not mean to disturb you," she apologized, awkwardly rubbing her hands together, considering turning around and leaving.
"No, it's okay, you're not disturbing me. Please, come in," Shepard said, gesturing toward the cabin and stepped aside to let Liara enter. "Checking up on me?" she then inquired as she leaned against the desk.
"I think I owe you for all the times you checked up me," Liara smiled, clasping her hands behind her back.
"And here I was hoping you came over for round two..." Shepard said, a sly grin rising to her lips slowly. She could've sworn Liara blushed, but couldn't be certain, it was kind of difficult to tell when one's natural skin tone was blue.
"Well, I'm not opposed to the suggestion," Liara admitted shyly. Oh yes, she was definitely blushing.
Skating around the edge of Shepard's darkest emotions, Liara discovered a door. It was shut and locked tight, buried and hidden behind layers upon layers of darkness and junk. It wasn't meant to be found, and it was a little miracle Liara managed to get as deep as she had. But this seemed to be as far as she would get, the entrance wasn't showing any signs of giving and letting her in, and she had no means to force her way in... and even if she had, doing so would've been wrong.
"What are you..?" Shepard began to ask, frowning deeply as she pulled back a little. Something felt different. Liara swallowed hard as she tried to think of a way to explain herself. She hadn't expected Shepard to notice.
"I'm sorry, Shepard. I was curious, and wanted to know more, so I... tried looking deeper," she confessed, and Shepard's eyebrow quirked. She sat up on the edge of the bed, leaning her elbows to her knees. Liara watched her shoulders rise as she inhaled deeply, and fall when she let her chest deflate, the air leaving her lungs in an agitated sigh. She reached to grab her clothes from the floor and proceeded to get dressed, Liara mimicking her actions quietly.
"Find anything interesting?" Shepard then inquired, running her hand through her hair before crossing her arms over her stomach and turning to look at Liara. The young asari shook her head, obviously embarrassed by her indiscretion and getting caught red-handed.
"I would've told you if you'd only asked me," Shepard said softly, slowly unfolding her arms to appear less hostile.
"I'm sorry," Liara apologized again, and Shepard shook her head.
"What do you want to know?" she asked, turning to sit cross-legged on the bed, leaning her elbows to her knees.
"Who are you, Shepard? Where did you come from?"
"Earth," the Commander shrugged, and Liara couldn't resist rolling her eyes at the smartass response.
"You know that isn't what I meant. What was your childhood like, and what about your parents?"
"I never knew my parents. I grew up in the system, being tossed around from one foster family to another until I ran away and lived on the streets... for the most part of my youth," Shepard summarized.
"Tell me," Liara encouraged, leaning closer, eager to hear the full story.
December 25th 2168. A tall woman took a shortcut through the alley, tilting the disposable coffee mug further back as she tried catching the final drops of the beverage from the bottom. As she turned to toss it aside, she didn't notice the lump in the middle of the pile of trash in her path. Letting out a slew of profanities she tried regaining her balance but it was a wasted effort. The pain of falling flat on her face in the trash and snow was shoved aside by surprise when she realized it wasn't trash that had tripped her, but the kid sleeping in the pile. Scrawny little redhead with the demenanor of a soldier suffering from PTSD. One glance at her and it was obvious she'd seen and experienced things little girls shouldn't have to go through.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," the woman said and stood up.
"There's nothing else to see here and you still didn't see me?" the kid growled defiantly. Some of her bravado seemed to deflate when the woman stood up and the kid became aware of just how ridiculously big she was for a human female. She had to be bordering on six foot three, and as if her height wasn't intimidating enough, it was obvious even through the layers of clothing that she was strong; the broad shoulders and slim waist forming a V-shape which told anyone looking as much.
"What are you doing here? Who are you?" she asked, and the kid turned to leave rather than answer questions. Anyone asking so many things had to be a social worker or a cop, and she had no interest in dealing with either.
"Not so fast, kiddo," the tall brunette scoffed and reached to grab the back of the kid's jacket and yanked her back.
"Let go of me!" she growled, kicking and punching air as the brunette lifted her off the ground and held her at an arm's length like you'd hold a vicious cat.
"I'm trying to help you, you stupid brat! My name is Zeta, what's yours?"
"Fuck you!"
"Well, Fuck You, what are you doing in the streets alone? You can't be more than ten."
"I'm fifteen! Not that it's any of your fucking business!" the kid spat. A lie, she wouldn't be fifteen until next April... but fifteen somehow sounded more grown up than fourteen.
"You must've been the runt of the litter, you're tiny for a fifteen year old," Zeta commented and continued her walk toward her car, carrying the kid with her like a piece of luggage.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Home."
"If you think I'll just go with you without a fight, you're making the biggest mistake of your life, old bag!"
"I like your attitude, Fuck You," Zeta laughed heartily before pausing for a moment and lifting the kid higher up to be able to look at her face.
"And if you kick me one more God damn time, I'll knock you out 'til next Tuesday! Don't make this harder than it has to be, you're coming with me regardless," she then said and the girl stopped struggling. Instead, she accepted her fate and let herself be hauled away on the shoulders of the tall woman.
"I'm sure this is a crime."
"And I'm sure no one is missing you or you wouldn't be sleeping in the streets."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Well, I'm a nice lady who would just hate to see a sweet kid like you spend her Christmas sucking on Turian dicks for a few lines of red sand," Zeta commented, her voice dripping with sarcasm. That was enough to shut the girl up, and she was silent for the rest of the way, didn't fight even when Zeta tossed her into the backseat of her car.
"Shepard," she finally muttered, slumping back in the seat with her arms crossed over her stomach.
"Shepard who?"
"Just Shepard."
After a twenty minute drive, they arrived to the rural area of the state, and pulled over in the snowy yard of a large, old house. Shepard climbed out of the car and rolled her eyes when Zeta reached to grip the back of her jacket again to ensure she wouldn't run off. She hadn't meant to run away, but was beginning to think she probably should've at least tried.
The inside of the house smelled of cigarettes and coffee, mottled with honey, vanilla and other sugary things which would've made the scent sickeningly sweet if it hadn't been for the undertone of the moss adding a touch of moist decay. Shepard liked the scent, there was something oddly comforting about it.
"Strip," Zeta ordered, her hands on her hips as she stood in front of the door, effectively blocking the only exit. Shepard ground her teeth. She'd known this was coming, after all there'd ever been only one reason men and women (and occasionally aliens of undetermined gender) had ever approached a street kid like her.
"I usually get paid in advance," she said, defiantly crossing her arms over her stomach, and Zeta rolled her eyes.
"You've got a one-track mind, Just Shepard. Now hurry up and strip, and let's get you cleaned up," the woman said snapping her fingers impatiently, and Shepard reluctantly began to undress. Once she was nude, Zeta eyed her from head to toe, and Shepard barely resisted the urge to raise her arms and sarcastically announce "Ta-daah!"
"Shower's upstairs, through the master bedroom opposite to the top of the stairs. Git," Zeta ordered, sharply nodding toward the steps and leaning to pick Shepard's clothes from the floor as the girl marched up.
Shepard turned the water on, felt it with her hand and finally stepped into the tiled corner. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd taken a proper shower. Usually "bath time" meant a hasty rinse of the crucial body parts at whatever public restroom happened to be available at that moment. Shepard leaned back, letting the steady cascade of warm water wash over her face for a moment before bringing her hands up to scrub her face clean. She slowly opened her eyes and stared at the white ceiling. It was streaked with mildew and dark brown spots of nicotine stains.
Still cleaner than what I'm used to, Shepard shrugged, reached to grab a bottle of shampoo and helped herself to a handful, trying to remember the last time she'd thoroughly washed her hair like this, but couldn't. She rinsed and repeated, trying to delay the inevitable... sighing deeply when there was a knock on the door. She didn't know how long she'd been in the shower, but apparently she'd overstayed.
She reached for a towel that looked like it had been used a couple of times, but she had no other choice, and frankly, a stranger's towel was the least of her worries at the moment. When she stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, she found Zeta sitting on the bed, one leg crossed over the other, a worn book in her lap. Shepard glanced over the book, trying to make out the title. Noticing her stare, Zeta helpfully held the book up. All quiet on the Western Front, it read.
"Your clothes are in the wash, you'll have to borrow these in the meanwhile," Zeta then said, resting her hand on a pile of clothes folded on the bed. "Get dressed and come downstairs when you're done," she then ordered, stood up and exited the room, closing the door behind her.
Shepard waited for a moment, listening to the stairs creak as the tall woman walked away. She then reached for the clothes and held up a black sleeveless undershirt.
"N7," she muttered, reading the logo on the left side on the front of the shirt.
So she's an officer, big deal, Shepard shrugged, not wanting to admit she was actually rather impressed by that. She pulled the shirt over her head, noticing the fabric reached halfway down her thighs. She finished dressing by jumping into the over-sized sweatpants and made her way downstairs.
Her stomach made a loud growling noise when she smelled something cooking. Following the scent, she made her way to the kitchen where Zeta stood in front of the stove, frying chicken. She turned to look over her shoulder, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth, her eye squinting a little to keep the smoke from getting into it.
"Sit,"she said, and Shepard did as she was told. They spent the following minutes in silence, Shepard sitting still, waiting for more orders and wondering why on Earth was she even complying. What troubled her more was her inability to figure out what the woman was planning exactly.
She doesn't seem like a sadist. Then again, neither did any of the "uncles" I had growing up.
Based on Shepard's experienc, no one was this kind without expecting something in return. Usually the nicer they initially seemed to be, the worse the things they did to her turned out to be. Allergic reaction to Turians was a cakewalk compared to some of the things she'd suffered in the hands of mere humans.
"Eat," came the next order as the older woman placed a plate of chicken and rice in front of Shepard and took a seat across the younger woman. A chubby, light brown mackerel tabby walked into the kitchen and jumped into Zeta's lap. It pushed its head against the woman's chin, purring and turning around and around in her lap before settling down.
Shepard shoved her mouth full of food, keeping her eyes firmly on the woman, cautious, almost as if expecting her to jump at her any given moment. She couldn't tell how old Zeta was, judging from facial features alone she would've guessed she was somewhere around thirty, but the way she carried herself suggested she was older. She had black hair that reached all the way to her lower back, and the long thick mane was decorated with a single white streak that ran the length of it. Not a tell-tale sign of aging, most likely a birth mark or a fashion statement. Her eyes were a pale green that edged on the yellow-ish shade of lime. Her face and jawline had a certain squareness to them, but not to the point of being overly masculine. She had thin, sharp lips, and a slightly convex nose which complimented her emphasized cheek bones.
Well, if I have to sleep with her, at least I can take comfort in the fact that she's not bad looking, Shepard thought to herself and continued eating.
Without a word, Zeta put the cat on the floor and stood up, her chair letting out a loud groan as the woman's weight shifted. Shepard's eyebrows rose in surprise at the sudden movement, but she didn't say anything. Instead she finished her meal listening to the tall woman's footsteps moving upstairs for a while before returning.
"Your clothes are clean and dry, I'll leave them on the couch," she then said from the kitchen door before turning on her heel.
"But what..." Shepard began to ask, but Zeta was already outside, the front door closing behind her.
"Weirdo," Shepard shrugged and went to get dressed, leaving the over-sized clothes she'd borrowed hanging on the back of the couch. Once she was dressed, she stood in the living room for a while, wondering what was the next step. Or, waiting for it more like, she already had a pretty good idea of what exactly it was.
"Oh, you're still here," Zeta commented when she returned to the house with a pile of firewood in her arms and kicked her snowy shoes off her feet. She then dropped the wood onto the floor in front of the fireplace and knelt down to light it.
"Was I supposed to leave?" Shepard quirked an eyebrow.
"No, but I was half expecting you to run away the first chance you get," Zeta chuckled, tossed the match into the flames and leaned to sit on her shins, staring into the fire.
"So what do you want from me?" Shepard asked.
"When did I ever say I wanted something?"
"Oh, so you just pick up teenagers off the street out of the goodness of your heart," Shepard scoffed, and Zeta shrugged.
"As far as I'm concerned, you're just another one of my strays," she said, reaching to pet the cat that walked up to her, its timing impeccable. "And I have no interest in fucking you, if that's what you've been expecting," Zeta then continued, moving a little to sit on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.
"Why'd you bring me here then?" Shepard demanded.
"Is it that difficult for you to believe that someone would genuinely want to help you without expecting anything in return?"
"Yes."
"Well, I guess you're not wrong exactly. Like you said, I'm an old bag, I wouldn't mind having someone help me out around the farm, but it wasn't what I planned," Zeta shrugged. In all honesty she hadn't planned anything at all neyond the point of rescuing the kid, taking her somewhere safe and warm at least for one night. She then pointed at the bottle of rum on the shelf across the room, and nodded a little, her eyebrows rising in a silent request. Shepard complied and handed the bottle to the older woman before taking a seat next to her.
"I don't understand you."
"You will the day you'll do someone a favor just because they asked you to help."
"Not gonna happen," Shepard rolled her eyes, and Zeta laughed before taking a long sip of the alcohol. "Besides, I didn't fucking ask for your help!" the girl then spat.
"True, but that doesn't mean you don't need it."
"I'm fine."
"I'm sure," Zeta commented, both of them knowing perfectly well Shepard was anything but fine. Running with gangs, stealing and threatening to be able to feed herself and her little habit of occasionally unwinding with the help of various drugs. Still, it was a better option than staying in the foster homes. Not all of them had been bad, on the contrary... but Shepard herself had been too impossible for the decent ones to handle her. The latest home she'd stayed at and eventually ran away from had been a shining example of all the negative stereotypes associated with foster homes though. Several kids stuck with a couple who weren't above making a few extra credits by "renting out" the kids to friends with... specific tastes.
"We'll all go to Alaska when we die," Zeta suddenly said and drank from the bottle again. Shepard's eyebrows rose as she wondered what had possessed the woman to say something as ridiculous. Surely she couldn't be drunk already.
"I'm... gonna go now," Shepard said, standing up slowly.
"Not stopping you, but you can stay if you wish."
"And then?"
"And then you live."
The mattress gave in underneath Zeta's weight as the woman settled down. Shepard tensed up involuntarily when she felt an arm wrap around her and pull her close. She waited for a moment before slowly turning around and leaning in to plant kisses on the older woman's neck.
"What are you doing?" she asked, pulling out of Shepard's reach, and frowning at her.
"You don't want to..?"
"I told you, I'm not interested."
"I thought..."
"I don't need to know the details of why you'd think that's the only way to show any affection, but just so you know, it isn't. Sometimes people will want to help you just because, and sometimes they will want to hold you and expect nothing more from it," Zeta said and Shepard scoffed. Not according to her experience.
"Sleep," Zeta then said in her now oh so familiar commanding tone. She wrapped her arm around Shepard, resting her chin on the top of her head, running her fingers through her hair in long slow strokes as the younger woman nuzzled into her neck.
"Jane."
"Hm?"
"My name is Jane Shepard," the girl muttered into the hollow of Zeta's throat, snuggling closer to the warm body, feeling comforted and safe for the first time ever in the arms of a stranger.
"I stayed with her until I was old enough to enlist," Shepard told Liara. She lied on her back, her left arm crossed under her head, her right one wrapped around Liara's shoulders as the asari rested her head on Shepard's chest.
"I helped her out around the farm and in return she fed me and kept me out of trouble. And sometimes I kept her out of trouble. She was... insane I guess. She had her good days and bad days. Also she ate nothing but condiments. I don't know why I remember that little detail so well," Shepard chuckled.
"You loved her," Liara said, and it was more a statement than a question. Shepard nodded slowly, shrugging one shoulder a little.
"I guess I did in a way."
"What happened to her?" Liara then inquired, turning to look at Shepard, an unexpected wave of sympathy pain crashing over her when she saw the rueful look that passed over Shepard's features.
"She drank herself to death."
"There was no treatment for her condition?" Liara frowned and Shepard shook her head a little.
"She didn't want to be treated. She never spoke about what happened to her in the First Contact War, but I'm guessing whatever it was, that was the reason she was so messed up and decided to slowly kill herself with booze."
"I'm sorry," Liara said softly, reaching to cup Shepard's cheek with her hand, her thumb smoothly sliding over the soft skin, tracing the scar that ran across it. Shepard gripped Liara's hand gently and turned to kiss her palm before entwining her fingers with Liara's.
"She took me under her wing and taught me everything she knew. For someone who was so cynical and broken down herself, she had a knack for convincing me to put more faith in myself. I don't know where I'd be if she hadn't dragged me with her that night."
"I'm sure she is proud of you," Liara whispered, and Shepard smiled ruefully. She turned to lie on her side, wrapping her arm around the asari and pulling her close, kissing her forehead softly.
"I'd like to think she is," Shepard mumbled quietly and closed her eyes.
She was about to fall asleep when Joker's voice suddenly came through the intercom, "Brace for evasive maneuvers!"
"What the..!" the Commander grunted and bolted up. The ship lurched and she could feel something impact it hard.
"Suit up!" she ordered Liara and the asari nodded, staggering across the deck and headeding down to her locker.
"Kinetic barriers down! Multiple hull-breaches, weapons off-line!" Joker's voice continued the devastating report.
Shit, Shepard growled to herself as she pulled her armor on before rushing to program the distress beacon. Liara ran up the stairs, ducking explosions and people as best as she could as she rushed back to the Commander.
"Shepard!"
"Distress beacon is ready for launch," Shepard said, put her helmet on and turned to face Liara.
"Will the Alliance get here in time?" the asari asked, an explosion throwing her aside before the Commander had a chance to respond.
"I'm not doing this just so that they can find our frozen corpses," Shepard snapped, reaching to grab the fire extinguisher. "Get everyone out to the escape shuttles!" she continued, tossing it to Liara.
"Joker's still in the cockpit, he won't evacuate. I'm not leaving either!"
"I need you to get the crew onto the evac- shuttles, I'll take care of Joker," Shepard assured, another explosion rattling the ship as it lurched once more. Shepard leaned forward, reaching to grip the exposed cabling to be able to maintain her balance.
"Shepard..."
I love you.
"Liara, go! ...now."
I know.
"...aye-aye."
(...and we all know what happened after that.)