This was written with a super quickness this afternoon after someone posted a link for this beautiful piece of work. h t t p :/ / ma - rin . deviantart . com/ art / Worries - 302156205 # comments
I felt inspired, but was on a time crunch and this needed to be written. My little author soul demanded it. So, no smut. Just emotion. Un-beta'd. All mistakes are mine. Let me know what y'all think.
Sometimes, it was not realistic for Liara to accompany Commander Shepard on every mission.
The asari tried not to protest, the words often dying on her lips even as she opened her mouth every time the commander informed her she would remain on the Normandy. Shepard had enough to contend with without argument from her, without contending with yet another adversary. Besides, she knew in her heart that if Shepard had the option, Liara would always be at her side. But it was still difficult to battle instinct and remain silent when every fiber of her existence screamed objection every time she watched the commander board the shuttle without her.
She always watched. Sometimes she wordlessly escorted Shepard all the way to the shuttle doors, squeezing her hand reassuringly one final time before she departed. Shepard always smiled back at her, that flawless grin that made her appear much younger and less world-weary than she was. Other times, unbeknownst to her lover, she watched her leave concealed by a stack of crates or by the shadows. She watched until the shuttle door slid shut behind her, until the shuttle itself sank from view.
Worry was senseless, but still she nearly made herself sick with it every time. She knew without wondering that Shepard felt the same whenever she did take Liara along on a mission, though parts of her admitted it was comforting to have the asari covering her back. But still, it was not always possible.
Liara shut her eyes with a murmured plea to the Goddess as she moved from the shadows to the elevator. Punching in her destination, she crossed her arms over her chest as if somehow the gesture could console her. The elevator moved slowly, and frustrated, Liara punched in her destination again. For one of the most modern frigates in the Alliance Navy, the Normandy possessed the slowest elevator she had ever had the misfortune to be trapped in.
Finally, the elevator doors eased open with a chime, and Liara dropped her arms to her side and straightened, relaxing her expression into one of calm. No one would be able to read the concern on her face or in her body language as she confidently strode through the chow hall and back into her office. She nodded and greeted those who met her eyes along the way, grateful that the walk to her office was a short one.
The darkness of her quarters was comforting, as was the familiar shimmer of information streams as they constantly scrolled and changed across the many terminals that covered her walls. The VI drone, Glyph, was not as comforting with his overly cheerful voice informing her of the full status of her information systems. "I should have named you 'Glitch,'" Liara muttered and took up her post at the terminals. Her fingers danced.
It was distracting work. There were dozens of feeds to read through at any given time, with more incoming on a near constant basis. Her information operatives assailed her with data. As much as she loathed admitting it, even she could not process all of the data without the VI assistant. Still, when Shepard was gone, she tried. It kept her mind busy, occupied. If she stopped for too long, the illusion was broken and dangerous thoughts flooded through.
Even still, there were moments that she forgot that her lover was gone, away on some Goddess-forsaken mission to save the galaxy, no doubt battling mercs or assassins or Cerberus. Commander Danny Shepard was a thing of terrifying beauty on the battlefield.
The manner in which she charged into battle frightened Liara the first time she witnessed it, years ago when she had been younger and much more innocent in the ways of the galaxy. Heedless of the damage her shields absorbed, she threw herself into every fight, ducking only briefly to allow her shields to recharge. When they did, she was up again, keening at the top of her voice, a voice pitched to carry across the entire field of battle. With a grace that should have been impossible given the armor she wore, she danced over obstacles and rolled under obstructions without breaking the fluidity of her headlong dash.
It was as if her entire body became a weapon. Her aim with the assault rifle was deadly, but she did not allow that to limit her. She fought with fists, striking with the butt of her rifle whenever she was close enough to, lashing out with her omni tool at those who dared venture too close. Though not nearly as biotically inclined as other members of her squad, she could still summon an effective biotic slam which she utilized often. All of her methods combined into a sickeningly effective, lethal dance of fierce martial prowess.
However, she was not reckless. She knew the limitations of her shields and armor, knew that even she could not survive a full barrage of rocket-propelled grenades. Although it might not appear so, she was constantly monitoring the status of her fellow squad members, bellowing out orders periodically, checking to ensure they were okay, calling them back if they were taking too much fire. That was more familiar to Liara, more similar to the stern-faced, determined military officer she knew. It was a strange combination of chaos and calculation that still managed to astound Liara.
There were moments when she lost herself to the glimmer of her terminal screens and forgot that Shepard was no doubt engaged in yet another battle for survival. And then she remembered, and the physical weight of emotion was like a mech was crushing her heart in its grip. The pain of it was so intense, it literally robbed her of breath as if someone had knocked the wind from her, and she forced herself to breathe again.
When her heart slowed and her breaths were once again steady and rhythmic, she refocused on her work. She knew from past experience, this would happen many more times before the commander finally returned. If she returned this time.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek hard, hoping the sharp pain would drive away the thought and it did. Shepard would return soon; she abandoned her work for a moment and shrugged out of her lab coat and tossing it haphazardly onto the bed. Instead, she reached for the hoodie Shepard had left on her sofa earlier that day. It fit well on Liara, for as physically imposing as Shepard appeared in armor, she was not much bigger than the asari.
Zipping the soft sweatshirt up to her chest, Liara pulled the hood to her face and inhaled the familiar smell that was Shepard. For a moment, she shut her eyes and then returned to work.
The hours crawled by. They always did whenever Shepard was away. Finally, after another disappointing glimpse at the clock, Liara decided that she needed a break. Her eyes burned, and when she closed them, she could still the dance of information behind her eyelids. Sighing, she stretched her stiff muscles and trudged into the galley. It was late, but there were still a fair amount of the crew gathered around the tables in the chow hall.
The coffee pot was half full, probably left over from hours ago. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Liara dumped the carafe and changed the filter. Shepard had introduced her to the human drink many years ago, and over time she had developed a taste for it once the notions of cream and sugar were also introduced. It had been Shepard who had taught her how to make coffee as well. She had taught her how to carefully measure out several scoops of the dark grounds into a new filter, how much water to add, and which of the dozens of buttons to push depending on if she wanted the coffee now or later.
Liara realized her hand was shaking as she held the measured cup of grounds, momentarily paralyzed by the memory. Swallowing, she shoved it away and finished preparing the coffee and set it to brew immediately. She took one of the generic mugs from the cabinet above the coffee pot, and leaned against the counter, gazing sightlessly at her feet as she waited.
The stir of activity drew her attention. It was a shift in mood more than a shift in activity. Liara watched as everyone in the chow hall glimpsed up as their commander turned the corner from the elevator. A cold sheen of sweat broke out on Liara's shoulders, and she exhaled the breath she had not realized she had been holding.
Those who caught her eye in the chow hall nodded respectfully with quiet greetings of acknowledgment. Shepard responded with nods and often a greeting of rank: petty officer, senior chief, lieutenant. She knew all of their ranks without glimpsing at the insignia on their uniforms. When her eyes settled upon Liara, she deliberately headed for her.
Though she had left her weapons in the armory, Shepard was still in armor. She almost always was whenever she returned from a mission, immediately heading to Liara's quarters the moment she set foot back on the Normandy. She gave a polite nod of greeting, her grey eyes sharpening just slightly though her stoic expression never wavered. "Dr. T'soni." She reached for a coffee mug of her own, and without waiting for the pot to finish dripping, she removed the carafe from its base.
It was then that Liara remembered she had forgotten to remove the distinctive black hoodie with its white and red stripes, its worn N7 patch sewn over the breast. "Commander," Liara returned the greeting and stepped forward, extending her coffee cup for her lover to fill. As she did so, she surreptitiously studied the other woman. Black hair had fallen into her eyes, obscuring half of her face. The other half was streaked with dirt and blood, and the asari had a difficult time discerning how much of it belonged to the commander. There were gouges in the armor that had not been there when she let, jagged scars along the midsection and shoulder.
Concern gnawed at Liara, but she said nothing. Shepard seemed fine as she finished pouring the coffee and replaced the pot. "Do you have a moment, Doctor?"
"Of course, Commander." She gestured towards her office, and Shepard followed her in. "I trust the mission went well?"
Her answer was a noncommittal grunt as the doors closed behind them, and immediately Liara headed for the latrine. Without need of invitation, Shepard sat at the foot of the bed heavily. When Liara returned it was with a basin of hot water and a soft cloth, both of which she set at the commander's feet before retrieving a chair from the office area and pulling it in front of the bed.
Sitting facing her lover, Liara wordlessly dipped the cloth in the water. She took Shepard's chin in her hand gently, not wanting to hurt any wounds she could not see under the grime, and angled her face so she might see it better. When the cloth first touched her face, Shepard startled as if she hadn't expected it, but then immediately relaxed as slow, gentle swipes of the cloth cleaned her face. It was a well-rehearsed routine with them. Shepard would return, battered and bleeding, and Liara would nurse all of her cuts and scrapes and bruises.
Neither woman spoke as Liara rinsed the cloth and repeated the action until Shepard's face was mostly clean. They didn't talk about the mission; they never did. The side of her face still covered by her hair was more difficult, as it was matted to the skin with blood. Liara worried her lower lip between her teeth as she meticulously washed the dried blood from her skin without pulling. Then it was much easier to survey the damage.
Her cheek was right cheek was split, and it made Liara nauseous to imagine what had struck her to cause such a wound. She attempted to examine the scrape on her opposite temple without imaging how she suffered such an injury. She reached into the pocket of the hoodie for the small vial of medigel she had slipped there. Unscrewing the cap, she dabbed a bit on her finger to apply to the cuts.
Quiet blue eyes met those of slate grey, and they stared at each other for several long breaths. Liara felt she should say something to break the tension, to shatter the heaviness and solemnity of Shepard's mood. Perhaps make a joke about not being a medical doctor, but she could not summon the will to do so. Instead, she leaned forward and gingerly dabbed the medigel over her lover's wounds.
The melding bond was not necessary for Liara to sense Shepard's thoughts and feelings. She had known her long enough that she had become practiced at reading her. Besides, the ache she felt emanating from the commander was almost tangible. Its fierceness radiated to Liara's core, and she was certain her heart might stop beating with the severity of it. Tears stung the back of her eyes, but she turned her head just slightly so that Shepard would not see.
She applied another bit of medigel but before she could reach for more, Shepard grabbed her wrist, stopping her. The action was so sudden that she had not even detected the hint of movement, and their eyes met again as the human covered the blue hand with her own and held it, cupping her cheek.
Shepard turned her head so that she could kiss the palm of her hand and shut her eyes, still holding the hand against her cheek. The intimacy of the action combined with the surge of unrestrained adoration for her lover nearly broke Liara, and it was a strenuous force of willpower not to pull the other woman into her arms, crush her in an embrace, not to kiss her senseless. To do any of those things would be confirming their worries, breathing life into them. Left unspoken, they merely haunted both women, both aware that their concerns, their fears were mutual, but to say anything, do anything, would make them real, and neither woman could handle that.
So Liara reluctantly withdrew her hand, and applied another dab of medigel to her lover's wounds. This would not be the last time Shepard left her behind while she went on a mission, but she would come return and the asari would patch up her many battle wounds, wash her face, just like she always did. Liara ducked her head so that her lover would not see the tear that had slipped between her lashes. Shepard always came back.
I could go into detail as to what this story means to me personally, but it's probably boring. Suffice to say, I'm happy for the way this turned out for being written in two hours.