A/N: Hey everyone, just a few things: as this progresses, you may notice that I go a little AU with some character histories here, so I want that out in the open before it gets to the point of absurd confusion. So don't get too mad at me. And the second thing - enjoy! You're awake, I'm awake, let's do this.


Illium – Nos Astra
T'Soni Intel Group
17 June

"Lieutenant Commander," greeted a bold voice from the threshold of the door, its normally forceful potency now colored with a hint of curiosity, friendlier and less aloof than she once recalled.

Ashley jerked her head sideways at the unexpected arrival, the sharpness of the movement sending a spasm of familiar pain down the entirety of her right side. She failed to hide her grimace, both the casual use of her defunct title and the accidental flaring of her old injury proving too much to stifle.

"Shiala?" she returned in earnest, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to relax her stiffened muscles. "No one told me you were coming today."

"I apologize, Lieutenant. Liara agreed to meet me early."

"It's alright. And, it's just Williams now."

Hearing the correction issued so resolutely, even from her own mouth, felt curiously foreign.

Considerable time, rigorous physical therapy, and her coveted new admin position at TIG had certainly softened the blow of being discharged from the Alliance, but the injury that caused it was a lasting one.

Shepard was dealt a considerably raw deal in the last push against the Reapers, the severity of his injuries matched only by the extensive span of time it took to rebuild him anew - again. But he was not alone in his suffering, whether he wished it or not, as the final charge to the beam had not been kind to his squad, either. Liara had at least escaped relatively unscathed, save for myriad superficial wounds and some painful burns, but Ashley took the brunt of the explosion that sidelined them both. The ordeal earned her a spinal fracture that would certainly have ended in paralysis or death had she tried to keep fighting, but in the end it mattered little.

The Commander still won without his squad to follow him, and the Alliance slapped her with a medical discharge anyway.

In the long and arduous aftermath, Liara clung to her bedside like a lost puppy while the Normandy lay stranded. She had been withdrawn, confused, even angry, and the conflicting feelings of sororal attachment to Ashley and its accompanying survivor's guilt served only to compound her grief.

Later, when the cost of victory was not so grim, Liara managed to find forgiveness for Shepard and his self-sacrificing heroics, but Ashley was not so easily healed. Liara personally funded her surgery and subsequent recovery using her own private assets, even going so far as to safely relocate the surviving members of the Williams family closer to the hospital where she convalesced, slowly.

When she was back on her feet (more or less), Liara offered her a job, claiming that there was no one better suited – except perhaps Shepard – to manage the combat outfit of her newly reestablished information brokerage.

When it came to it, Ashley found it impossible to refuse. Who would she be if she did?

"I'm sorry," Shiala corrected, lowering her gaze out of habit, ever respectful. "I heard you had been injured. I did not realize it was permanent. Do you still serve as Spectre?"

"In theory," conceded Ashley, frown souring at the grim reminder that her brief tenure as humanity's (second) best had both started and ended in a hospital bed. She had the security clearance awarded by her position if she wanted it, but her ability to undertake practical missions was severely diminished. "Mostly I just coordinate ground operations for Liara now."

"I see," came Shiala's measured response, startlingly green eyes – only a fraction darker than the rich olive of her skin – fixed on the mess of datapads and document charts scattered on the surface of the conference table where Ashley was currently sitting. "Am I disturbing you?"

"Not at all," assured the former LC with practiced confidence, shelving her discomfort in favor of a courteous shake of the head.

Her many months spent on Illium had required more bowing and ass kissing than her military service ever did, but if there was anything she learned from working under Liara, it was that diplomacy could be both be shield and spear. Her oath may have been released and her ranking stripped, but she was still a soldier. Weaponry was her strength, and she would sharpen whatever was placed in her hands.

"None of this is confidential," she amended, sensing the unease radiating from the asari commando as she lingered in uncertainty by the door. "And anyway, I highly doubt Liara would consider your presence a security breach."

"She might," countered Shiala, vague hesitancy in her words not matching her rigidly composed demeanor. "Do you know where I can find her?"

"She was just here, but I think she stepped out. She should be back in – nevermind."

Ashley snorted at the arrival of the newest person to the room, timing so precisely perfect. The asari might adamantly deny it until her face flushed purple, but Ashley nursed a tiny suspicion that Liara enjoyed the theatrics of playing anonymous underworld linchpin just a little too much - this was hardly the first time she had made a fortuitous entrance.

"Shiala," greeted Liara with a thin smile, extending both of her hands to grasp those of her companion. The exchange was polite, but short, the elder asari ushered inside as Liara gestured toward the conference table. "I hope your journey was not unpleasant. Sit with me?"

"Of course. I did not intend to intrude on your combat specialist," added Shiala, sending another apologetic nod toward the human onlooker still seated in her chair.

"It's no intrusion. I'd actually prefer Lieutenant Williams to stay."

Ashley shrugged her acquiescence, no reason to protest. Privately, however, she wondered. Liara rarely ever referred to her so formally, even in the professional setting. It was always Ashley, or Williams when directing her field operatives, or Ash – if she was drunk enough. But Lieutenant? Definitely odd.

Shiala made no comment, instead taking the proffered seat in silence.

"So what is it you wished to discuss?" prompted Liara, sparing Ashley only a cursory glance.

"I know you have much to prepare for tomorrow," began Shiala, some of her initial reticence beginning to dissipate, "but I want to ensure that you have accounted for your own safety."

If Liara was surprised by the topic, or its deliverer, she showed no physical sign. Her countenance remained stoic, her expression one of appraisal.

"I have been forced to appear in public many times since the war. Should this be any different?"

The question itself was a rhetorical one, a polite reminder that young in years though she may be, she was no stranger to politicking. She grew up in its shadow, and further watched Shepard openly outmaneuver his opposition through the entirety of the war. Since his departure for Palaven, where he was serving as an attaché to Primarch Victus, Liara had taken up the burden of the spotlight herself. It was, to borrow one of his expressions, not her first rodeo.

Shiala seemed to disagree.

"It is. It should be. Illium is not Thessia, nor is it Earth. You should take precautions."

"And which precautions are those?" posed Liara, hint of frostiness, of burgeoning impatience.

"You need a security attachment."

"I am more than capable of defending myself, as you know."

True, she knew that the past few years had hardened Liara into both a skilled warrior and a reputable information broker, but the enthusiasm in her quick response hinted at the willful recklessness Shiala feared.

"Biotic skill is no guarantee of your safety. Nothing is. But a protection detail makes you a hard target."

Liara released a sigh, born not of frustration, but of concession. The caution the former commando preached wasn't wrong, per se, but the issue was far more intricate than she realized.

"I cannot give a speech praising unity and cooperation surrounded by armed guards."

"Just one guard. No one else needs to be on that stage with me."

"You volunteer yourself for this?" asked Liara, sharp edge to her question, already knowing the answer.

"Of course I do."

"When last I checked, you were content in your position as warden of my estate. Has something changed?"

"Any commando can secure an empty house. Let me protect you."

Satisfied that she had at least forced Shiala to openly admit her motivation for coming to Nos Astra with such urgency, Liara relaxed her position in her seat somewhat, mind still churning with deliberation.

When Shiala had first contacted her, days ago, asking for an audience, she insisted that there was nothing wrong, only that she be allowed to visit TIG to discuss something in person. Liara suspected, within the confines of her own silent doubts, that it might involve this particular brand of job dissatisfaction, and had been preparing for her arrival accordingly.

Still, it was not altogether comforting to have those suspicions confirmed, because it only made the next part of this meeting all the more difficult.

"I have to respectfully decline, Shiala. I'm sorry."

Credit to her training and to her many centuries of practiced diligence, Shiala's expression remained determinedly neutral. The shock, and what sounded eerily like hurt, was all in the voice.

"What? I cannot believe you would be so –"

There was a rather distinct medley of unfavorable adjectives that might fill that blank, and Liara had very little desire to hear exactly which one she was being accused of. She held up a palm, as much of a pacification as it was a command.

"I have to decline because the role you seek is already filled."

"By who?"

"Lieutenant Vega. He is my Chief Security Advisor and my personal escort, when I need him."

The assertion did little to placate Shiala, whose jaw was clenched in an attempt to suppress the frustration she would rather have kept private, away from those she did not know well – Ashley, presumably.

"You chose a common soldier, over me?"

"Yes. An Alliance soldier. Tomorrow I formalize the partnership between the Systems Alliance and T'Soni Intel Group, and who I bring with me is just as important as what I say. Vega is the ideal choice. He is easily recognizable as a human war hero, even this close to the Terminus. I need to use him. This isn't personal."

"You're lying," contended Shiala with unflinching confidence, studious gaze narrowing to a glare.

Liara, who had expected some degree of resistance, was taken aback by the intense certainty now returned in reflection. Shiala had issued the verdict so casually, so beyond doubt in her conviction that it unsettled Liara, who could not help the memories that pricked at the back of her mind.

Being raised by one parent, and an eternally busy one at that, Liara quickly learned to navigate the shortcuts to her mother's attention while still a small child. Minor behavioral infractions were easily forgiven when faced with unfettered affection from her daughter, a soft spot Liara often used to her advantage - Benezia was never a very rigid disciplinarian. Her favorite acolyte did not share that particular vulnerability, however, and on the rare occasion that Liara inspired the fierce anger of the habitually unflappable commando, the experience had been terrifying, and shameful.

But that was decades ago, and Liara had come a very long way from the petulant youth living in the shadow of the T'Soni name. She no longer had reason to fear the omniscience of her surrogate guardian from an era past, and no duty to oblige her disappointment.

"Of course it's personal," pressed Shiala, undeterred. "Your Lieutenant may be a war hero, but has he ever led a security assignment? What is his training compared to mine?"

"James is N7. And he guarded Shepard when he was grounded," chimed Ashley, unable to keep the hint of defensiveness from leeching into her words. So far she had done nothing but idly observe the somewhat tense exchange between the two asari, but she was beginning to understand why Liara wanted her to stay. She needed someone to back her up, someone that would not relish hearing James dismissed so easily.

"And that makes him superior?"

Liara chose not to rise to the appeal, refusing to avert her gaze at the engagement it begged. Her decision was already made, long before Shiala ever set foot in the room, and she did not want to betray any hint of uncertainty or weakness that might indicate otherwise.

"James is a good choice – the only choice."

"Just not the best one. I think you are making a mistake."

Even had Shiala not flung the words as insult, as admonishment, her misgivings were all too transparent. It was in the way she held herself, unease lining her shoulders below darkened, penetrating stares. Still there was pride, and hints of that immovable strength of will Liara still envied even now, but it was eclipsed by the chafings of obstinate distrust.

It was, unfortunately, an apprehension they both shared.

"Why have you stopped checking in with your doctor?" prompted Liara, no longer able to conceal the source of her exclusionary judgment.

Visibly disconcerted by the abrupt change in direction, Shiala stiffened, previous insistence giving way to stunned silence.

"How do you know this?"

"This is my career. My network has extensive resources on Thessia."

"And you use them against your own people?"

"Only when I must," returned Liara, the impatience she had denied flickering once more. "Your counselor contacted me after you failed to show up for the fourth time, and you refuse to answer her calls. She – we – have reason to be worried. If you did not want me to know, you should not have listed me as your emergency contact."

It was not her intent to make the comment sting, but neither did Liara appreciate the insinuation that she somehow gained a perverse pleasure in monitoring her friends and colleagues.

"I have no other family. The Ferosi are dead, or gone home. Who else is there?"

A piece of her heart ached to hear it, but Liara could not afford the distraction.

"Shiala. Please tell me why you avoid your counselor."

Reluctant to give it though she may be, the answer was not an overly complicated one. After the war, Shiala had been somewhat of a mess, stashed in a crumbling field hospital on the outskirts of London. Much of the three weeks she spent in suffering were a haze, a drug-induced amalgam of pain, vivid hallucinations, and the slow, crushing acceptance that most of her colonists were dead.

It was Aethyta that found her, entirely by coincidence, and it was only a matter of days before Liara named her warden of the T'Soni Estate and shipped her home to Thessia. Aside from generous pay, part of the bargain they'd struck included regular physical therapy sessions, intended to strengthen and restore her unstable biotics.

That Shiala had stopped going, without warning or leave, did not bode well.

"That is not your concern," she finally responded, unfaltering affirmation still purposefully evasive, her answer not much of an answer at all.

"I don't understand. It is my concern - you agreed this was necessary, you assured me you would go."

"I know the limits of my biotics," assured Shiala, evasive, turning inward at the growing burn of unexpected scrutiny. "But I don't need them to be effective. I have been sworn to your family since before you were born."

"Yes, you have. But that's not a risk I can afford to take. Even if I could choose you, I would not. I'm sorry."

Her brooding intensity seemed to drain away, broad shoulders hunching just slightly, gaze cast downward. Shiala was silent, her rigidity shaken, stolen away at how sharply – how quickly – Liara had offered her rejection.

"This is your final decision?"

"It is."

Shiala nodded just once, the motion brisk, rising from her seat with renewed vigor. She was determined to leave, and leave quickly, her mask of professionalism still intact.

"Then I will return to Thessia, as you ask."

"What – now?" cut in Ashley, surprised that the same commando who had been so eager to swear a vow of service just moments earlier was now posed to flee.

"What reason do I have to stay?"

It was, intentionally so, a question voiced with no need of answer. Liara remained seated, pensive, not wanting to further the sting of refusal any more than she already had.

"You are always welcome at TIG," she promised, her words softer than necessary for fear of sounding disingenuous.

Just steps away from the exit, Shiala faced her again, her dull assurances of hospitality not quite enough to wash away the salty bitterness of diffidence and dismissal.

"Be careful, Liara. You are very good at what you do, and you might think yourself the biggest player on Illium, but your life is not a game."

When she had gone, Ashley turned her attention back to the only other occupant in the room.

"You good?"

"She has no idea who I really am. What I'm capable of," hissed Liara, her reflexive answer tinged with a familiar iota of venom.

"She would if you told her."

"I can't do that. Enough people know as it is. And anyway – what does she think is going to happen? You'd think Athame herself had threatened to strike me down, to hear her talk. I don't know what she's afraid of. James cleared every single person on that guest list. Nothing will happen."

"Yeah," mused Ashley, wary. "Famous last words, Doc."


Citadel – Wards
Docking Bay E24
17 June

Heeled black boots clicked against the smooth surface of the sterile tiled floor, their wearer pacing the span of the room for the – no – she lost count somewhere after the two hundredth time. Impatience clung to the woman's every feature, gloved hand running through raven hair with increased frustration.

The walls of her current trap were austere, brightly lit but completely bare. In one corner lay a metal cot for more permanent guests, but she had entertained the idea of sitting and waiting only briefly, having taken to prowling the length of her cell hours – had it been hours? – ago.

When the lock on her door finally glowed green and disengaged, her footsteps came to a sudden halt. In strode an asari without reservation, her confidence unshaken by the cool glare she received as welcome.

"Councilor Tevos," greeted the prisoner with distaste, arms that had been wringing in displeasure now folded across her chest.

"Miss Lawson," returned the asari, politeness just a touch overplayed. "I apologize for the circumstances in which I say this, but it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Miranda bristled, unfazed.

"If that were true, we would be shaking hands somewhere on the Presidium, not in a C-Sec holding cell."

Tevos released a controlled breath, her palms clasped behind her back, her demeanor that of rehearsed contrition.

"Temporarily detaining you was the easiest way of securing your cooperation. I trusted Commander Bailey to inform you that you are not under arrest, but you do have an impressive track record of evading the authorities on this station."

"Ah," intoned Miranda, shrewd gaze alight with challenge. "This is about my track record."

"The Council is well aware of your past with Cerberus, that is no issue. And we are aware that you are currently under contract with T'Soni Intel Group out of Illium."

"That's hardly public record, but it's no secret. I doubt Dr. T'Soni will take kindly to one of her top field operatives being held against her will."

"Your lost time will be reimbursed, I assure you. As soon as you hear what I have to say, you are free to leave."

Interested, but not altogether reassured, Miranda frowned with skepticism.

"What exactly do you want from me?"

Shoulders pressed in stiffness, hands still folded in composure, the Councilor revealed only the smallest hint of a smile.

"I want to make you a Spectre."


Citadel – Presidium
Council Chambers
17 June

Only dulled noise filtered through the insulated walls of his office, the expanse of the Citadel skyline visible through his window long since darkened. Sparatus keyed the audio on his private omni-tool, keeping his voice low, but determinedly still.

"Is it done?"

Tomorrow.

His reply was curt, but decisive.

"Make it clean."


Illium – Nos Astra
Xelvara Plaza
18 June

"Kid," called Aethyta over her shoulder, tone lowered to little more than a whisper, determined to keep herself out of earshot of anyone daring to listen.

Liara, preoccupied with the datapad in her hands, did not bother to turn her attention toward the familiar voice in her ear.

"Is something wrong, Dad?" she teased, retaliating in jest with her chosen emphasis.

"Could be," confirmed her father, unmoved by her daughter's feigned indifference. "Who's the asari at the end there, sitting by herself?"

Curious, Liara glanced up from her datapad, doing her best to affect an air of neutrality – one of them had to, if Aethyta insisted on staring so blatantly.

"Valya Kerintis. She's a representative for the Asari Republics, from Serrice. Why?"

"What's she doing here?"

"I assume the Republics want to show their support of my peacekeeping endeavor, as they should – more than half of our profit comes from Thessian clients. A public endorsement makes them look good, and I continue to sell generously to them."

"Did you clear her?"

"Yes of course I cleared her," returned Liara, unable to resist rolling her eyes.

"Uh huh," mumbled Aethyta, not fully listening. "Think I'll go introduce myself."

Aethyta rose from her chair, abrupt but surprisingly graceful, still eyeing the strange asari with a predatory gleam.

"Please be polite," urged Liara, still firmly seated, clutching her datapad. "And don't hit on her!"

Her exasperated plea of diplomacy went ignored, Aethyta crossing the considerable length of the stage with powerful strides. A few various passerby glanced in her direction as she did so, but most were still too focused on ushering guests and preparing for the speech to pay her much notice. Even so, she had long since learned to appreciate the fickle nature of a private conversation, and she dropped herself into the chair directly adjacent to the asari in question. Her encroachment was blunt, but not yet hostile.

If the asari – Valya – was perturbed by her closeness, she hid it well. She barely flinched at the new presence.

"Matriarch Aethyta," she greeted, unerringly pleasant, something of a smirk plastered to indigo skin. "How lucky I am to meet you on this lovely evening in Nos Astra."

"Save it," snapped Aethyta, harsh tones scratching in warning. "I don't know who you are, and I don't care. If I catch you sniffing around, I will hurt you."

"Well," continued Valya, sighing deeply, "you certainly are less friendly than your employer."

The accusation was an interesting choice of words, to be sure, but also a valuable reveal. It was confirmation, at least, that the Matriarchy was still in the dark about the extent of her relationship with Liara. Still, it was small comfort, and it did little to quell the vexing suspicion in Aethyta's gut.

"You can kiss her ass all you like, but I don't buy it. Republics never do anything without an ulterior motive. They wanted a poster girl, they'd have sent someone famous. Instead they sent you. You're here to do their dirty work – no shit. You a commando?"

Valya, still smiling falsely at the chatting, ignorant crowd of guests below her, conceded nothing.

"I am merely a representative of the asari government, here to support TIG in its new venture."

"Then tell them to keep their distance. This is my assignment, my business. Don't get in my way."

"And how would I do that?" prompted the matron, unable to turn her head toward the asari hissing warnings in her ear without brushing cheeks.

Refusing the question, Aethyta gripped the back of the seat instead, knuckles clenching as she leaned closer still.

"Stay away from Liara T'Soni."

Then she shot from the chair, her back straightened with professionalism once more, leaving Valya to track her gaze upward.

"Give her my regards, will you? I do believe the speech is about to start."

Aethyta grunted in irritation but did not give her the satisfaction of a real response, already halfway back to her seat by the time the latter half of Valya's parting words registered.

The plaza had indeed gone quiet, the sea of guests watching the stage with rapt attention. Aethyta made it to her seat at the far end of stage right as Liara – sandwiched dead center between Vega and Traynor – rose from hers. Bright flickering of flashing cameras dotted the crowd as Liara approached the podium, illuminance matched by the glittering stones tastefully woven into her formal gown. She wore a controlled smile, any hint of nervousness masked by dark lines of makeup and practiced poise.

"Good evening," she opened coolly, quieting the last pockets of hushed murmurs. "And thank you all for coming on such a beautiful night."

Several stray guests smiled, politely engaged, but most were journalists or the like, eagerly yet stoically awaiting the next piece of her proclamation.

"Tonight, on this beautiful night, we are gathered to commemorate the year that has passed since the galaxy made its courageous last stand against the greatest enemy it has ever faced. In the spirit of the unity and commitment that brought an end to the Reaper War, I am pleased to announce that T'Soni Intel Group has pledged its resources in partnership with the Systems Alliance."

A small round of applause broke out, but quickly died out as Liara continued in confidence.

"With this new partnership, we aim to establish ourselves as the voice of cooperation between humanity, the Attican Traverse, and even the Terminus Systems. Our nations and people have always survived among divisions of colonization and jurisdiction, but in the wake of destruction that threatened to consume every last planet, every home, we recognize that survival is no longer enough. If we are to claim our victory, we must stand stronger and wiser in this new era of peace. We hope to inspire reconciliation and humility among all other races – among all those left behind to rebuild our civilization from ashes and flourish anew. Only then have we truly won."

More applause, peppered with audible cheers, cameras flashing with renewed vigor. Liara's smile grew, stretching from polite signifier to genuine joy, the pulsing of the crowd contagious.

"To accept this offer of friendship on behalf of the Systems Alliance, I am honored to present our dignified keynote speaker, and my personal friend. Please welcome Specialist Samantha Traynor."

Traynor rose to her feet somewhat shakily, returning Liara's encouraging smile with one of her own, albeit somewhat strained. She did her utmost best to block out the noise and jitters of the crowd as she approached the podium, exhaling deeply.

"Well," she started, her breath turning to a quick, nervous laugh. "I'm not so sure about dignified, but I am flattered to be here speaking with you all tonight. I won't bore you with lectures about cooperation and peace, as the eloquent Dr. T'Soni has already said it far better than I ever could. I know that with the support of her company, the Alliance will continue to expand and improve its commitment to rebuilding, and we are thrilled to begin this new partnership."

An additional smattering of applause, Sam using the brief respite to glance backward at her companion just briefly, still working up her nerve.

"But before we get to the proverbial cutting of the ribbons, I do want to share a little story. By the time it is finished, I hope that the galaxy understands just how indebted it is to Liara T'Soni. It's true there are entire publications dedicated to speculating about what went on behind the scenes of the Normandy SR-2, and while most of it is fabrication, you are not wrong to call its crewmembers heroes – myself excluded, of course."

A few indulgent laughs, and Sam released another steadying breath.

"You see, when I first began serving on the Normandy at the outset of the Reaper War, I was just a lowly comm specialist in the right place at the wrong time. I was so out of my depth that I barely knew how to salute, and in storms Commander Shepard, the famous Commander Shepard, barking something about Mars and the Prothean Archives. It wasn't until he mentioned Liara, someone I had only seen on the vids, that I realized just how completely –"

The next several seconds were an impossible blur, surreal.

A body dropped to the floor of the stage, no warning, no sound other than the echoing thud of limbs pulled downward with extreme force. Liara jerked backward in her seat, suspended in shock as she recognized the damp, clinging sensation of being covered in crimson red blood – human blood. There were murmurs of confusion, some stray cursing, then the murmurs slowly descended into outright panic. The screaming started just as Liara seemed to unfreeze, adrenaline mounting as she grasped what she was looking at.

Samantha Traynor lay slumped on the ground, unmoving, the back of her head torn open.

Dead.


Illium – Nos Astra
Eternity
18 June

Shiala sat alone at the edge of the bar, her back to the rest of the patrons milling throughout the club. Churning green irises were fixed on the screen above her, ignoring the flickering pang of disquiet as she watched Liara take the stage in silence – the music drowned out the audio all too easily.

She had been nursing her drink in solitude, the slouch of her shoulders and brooding, focused gaze enough to ward off anyone bothering to approach. She was in no mood to force friendly conversation, not when beneath her stoic exterior brewed tense introspection, a roiling mixture of odium and despair.

Had she truly been so foolish? To think – worse, to presume – that Liara would welcome her guidance? That their shared history from days long past would negate all that had happened since?

The falling out between Benezia and Liara had been gradual, a painful spiral of insolence and resentment, before finally ending in icy silence the day Liara left. Shiala, for her part, had spent the intermittent years conflicted, torn between her loyalty to the woman she admired and served, and the affection she bore for the maiden she had known since birth.

But that was before Saren, before Benezia made her last and greatest mistake, before they had all followed her into unwilling servitude, before Shiala had been betrayed and left to die on her orders, before Shepard and Liara tracked her to Noveria. And killed her.

The memories itched at the former commando like an old wound, her stomach tight with unease as she tossed back the remaining dregs of her drink, warm liquor soothing briefly, the burn palliative.

How pathetic she must have sounded, offering her service to Liara so desperately. Her rejection had been polite, tactical even, and her words cautious, but she could not fully mask her suspicion – the suspicion that Shiala was unstable, lost, clinging to the last threads of a life forsaken.

Was this not so? Was she not slave to past wrongs?

She had failed to protect Benezia, and here she sat alone, watching her only child take to the podium as if she were born for it. Even through the veil of the screen, she exuded both a distinct elegance and a profound sadness, far beyond her years.

Shiala dropped her gaze, the old wound aching anew. The enormity of her failure ran deep, indeed.

A flicker of sudden movement on-screen flashed in her periphery, and reflexive instinct snapped her attention in its direction. In the brief instant that Shiala had looked away, something had violently and drastically changed.

The camerawork was unsteady, obviously reacting to whatever was happening, but shakily its operator managed to fixate on the stage, its view partially blocked by the fleeing of panicked guests. Shiala watched closely, heart hammering with equal parts thrill and fear as she watched the frenzy.

At last she glimpsed the stage, camera zooming as it panned. A human lay sprawled behind the podium unmoving, Liara sitting in frozen stillness just feet away. A familiar purple-skinned asari – Aethyta, she realized – stepped over the body, her posture stiff with command as she yanked Liara out of her seat – Liara was covered in blood?

The screen went dark.

The bartender, a salarian who had been paying the screen little mind as he worked, glanced at it with mild interest, but turned his attention back toward the commando as he caught her gaze.

"Another drink, miss?"

Shiala, still reeling from the ephemeral carnage she had just witnessed, failed to respond.

"Miss?"

"What? No – no thank you. I need to leave."

"Closing out, then? Kiosk is down the other end."

"Can I order a taxi from there?"

The salarian shrugged, unbothered by her apparent urgency.

"Sure. Might be cheaper to walk, though. Where are you headed?"

Her expression was grim, unchanging. She glanced once more at the screen, its broadcast cut short.

"Xelvara Plaza."

Shiala never took much satisfaction in being right.


Illium – Nos Astra
Xelvara Plaza
18 June

Her limbs refused to move, widened eyes locked on the body – corpse – at her feet, unable to tear her gaze away even as urgent voices began to filter through the lingering haze of shock.

Jesus fucking Christ –

need to move –

– Vega get your ass on the perimeter –

come on, Kid, wake up –

Someone latched onto her bicep, hauling her upwards and out of her seat, another hand hovering at the back of her neck and applying pressure as they moved, forcing her to keep her head down. A few frantic, harried moments of beating feet and blurred shouting, and Liara was shoved into a waiting skycar, her father sliding in close behind.

Ashley, who had called for the vehicle as soon as the chaos erupted, took the helm, gunning them away from the plaza before the door had even fully closed. When they had safely disappeared into a stream of passing traffic, the entirety of the last two minutes caught up with her, and Liara noticed herself shaking.

She looked down at her hands, trembling, splattered with deep red. When she touched the pads of her fingers against the same dampness on her face, she recoiled with a dry, strangled expression of horror. Suddenly her chest tightened, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs, shallow breaths coming out as clutching, panicked gasps.

Aethyta, who had been scanning the passing traffic for signs of pursuit, jerked sharply toward her daughter as she began to hyperventilate.

"Hey," she ordered, gentle, yet stern. "Easy, okay? Take it slow."

"I can't," choked Liara, straining against the reassuring hold on her shoulder.

"It's over, okay? Calm down, try to breathe. Go slow."

"She –"

"It's over. We got you out, Little Wing," Aethyta tried again, softer this time, pressing some of her own fear, her own relief into her the stabilizing grip of her hand.

"I just watched her die."

Her breathing slowed, the panicked haze clearing, but her own words sunk in with brutal clarity, and she promptly leaned forward and vomited into the floor of the skycar.

"Need me to find a doctor, Ma'am?" asked Williams, eyes making brief contact with Aethyta through the rearview.

"Shot of ryncol would do, if you ask –"

"No," cut in Liara sharply, resting once more against the back of the seat. "Please. Just take me home."


A/N: Thanks for reading! Always open to feedback. And brunch.