Apartment 1470, Tiberius Towers | Citadel | September 25th 2174
Now that Shepard had access to her own food, Liara could barely get her out of the kitchen. The grinning human was constantly baking, sautéing, or boiling things that made the entire apartment smell wonderful. Usually. Liara had never been much of a cook. Growing up, living in her mother's house meant most of her meals were prepared by trained chefs. Then at school, her meals were also prepared by professionals. There had been a lengthy adjustment period when she'd gone on her first dig and been introduced to military-grade rations, but the point of it all was that Liara had rarely been forced to prepare her own meals. Even today she preferred to eat out or buy pre-made meals that could be swiftly and painlessly warmed up or put together.
Shepard, clearly, was the utter opposite.
The only meal she'd eaten that she hadn't prepared herself since she'd first gone to the human grocer tucked away in what was the Citadel equivalent of a slum (a human-only district in Zakera Ward not far from Shepard's cover apartment) had been the tacos Garrus had brought her when she'd officially been declared a free woman. Liara hadn't gone with her to the grocer yet as Shepard was prone to going there, browsing the wares and putting in an order on her way back from an Eclipse mission. She wanted to go, but she hadn't found the courage to ask if it would be possible.
She was also terrified of embarrassing herself in front of her crush.
It seemed odd though, that a poor orphan used to life on the streets would be so passionate about food. How had she even gotten access to quality ingredients while living on the streets? Liara found herself admitting that maybe the 10th Street Reds had taken better care of Shepard than any government organization would have. The Alliance certainly didn't dole out hand-crafted pastas.
"Shepard, will you be done soon?" Liara asked, peeking her head around a corner to peer into the kitchen. She'd learned very quickly that Shepard seemed to get in a very narrowly-focused, hyper-aware mood when she was cooking and that it was best to approach her calmly and quietly. Hovering over her shoulder or idling within touching distance was the quickest route to a grumbling, stiff-backed chef. The young asari had quickly learned that the hard way. In her defense, watching Shepard chop vegetables was an... inspiring experience. Liara could only wonder if it was a biological response common in all humans or just another one of Shepard's idiosyncrasies. Humans were hunter-gatherers after all; perhaps it was an animal instinct to protect their food?
"Yeah!" Shepard called back, grinning. She was sliding a covered tray into the oven, the small towel she'd been using to keep her hands clean draped carelessly over one shoulder. "In fact…" she shut the oven door and set a timer on her omnitool. "I have forty-five minutes before the lasagna needs to be uncovered. Then another fifteen, ten to cool, and we can eat!" Shepard stood with a grin, wiping her hands one final time before she tossed the hand towel onto a clear space on the counter. Shepard kept a tidy kitchen, cleaning as she worked, and Liara wasn't sure if the organizational skills were a surprise or downright fitting.
"Oh! That's good to hear. I wanted to check on your burns, and see if perhaps you were feeling up to working on the Prothean text?"
"Sure! Like I said, I've got nothing to do for the next forty-five minutes except wait for this to bake. I owe you some science time, anyway. Vera's been stealing me from you every other day, it feels like." Shepard had done several more escort jobs over the past few days, though none had been quite as violent as the first. At the end of every mission, Vera had invited Shepard out for drinks but Garrus wanted her to hang back until they got a better understanding of Eclipse's grip on Zakera. He didn't want her disappearing into an Eclipse den with no security cameras to hack. Liara didn't either. However, with each politely refused invitation, Vera had seemed more and more confused. Shepard figured she'd have to say yes soon, or they'd start to get suspicious. That is, if they weren't already.
"Scratches first," Liara reminded her, stepping more fully into the kitchen. She'd bandaged up the worst of the wounds Shepard had suffered from her initiation bout with the Eclipse squad leader and wanted to make sure they were healing properly. She'd also suffered minor chemical burns from prolonged skin contact with the krogan blood she'd spilled on her first mission. Shepard of course insisted that she shouldn't be wearing any bandages around the Eclipse mercs, lest she risk being teased. Better to let them see the wounds and know that Shepard wasn't afraid to get rough. Liara's version of compromise was insisting that Shepard wear bandages while she was home.
Shepard rolled her eyes but nodded dutifully, following Liara to the downstairs bathroom. The human moved with a calm, lazy gait that was a far cry from the stiff shoulders and raised chin Liara had noted during their first encounters. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about owing the human's ease to the return of a violent career path, but she was glad all the same that Shepard seemed to be in high spirits.
It was also a great, satisfying relief that Shepard barely flinched when Liara leaned in close to swipe disinfectant over the healing skin and apply the medi-gel patches. These pesky wounds wouldn't be scarring anytime soon if Liara could help it.
"I did have a request, Professor."
Liara paused, halfway through screwing the cap to a bottle of disinfectant back on. "Yes?"
Shepard turned her head slightly to better make eye contact and as her bangs fell over her face Liara's eyes followed, transfixed. When the human spoke, she sounded like someone that had a far better understanding of the subject they were discussing than their vocabulary might lead you to believe. "Can we try... I don't know, any other method than the one we've been trying? This weird Prothean thing I can do... the understanding that I don't quite understand, it's frustrating. The harder I try to translate, the harder it gets to read anything. It's almost like I need to be caught off guard, like I can't be paying attention." Liara watched her with a researcher's gaze, instantly all business, blue eyes as keen as a surgeon's.
The few translation sessions they'd managed to work in had all gone relatively poorly, much like the first. Liara, still shy around Shepard and unwilling to press past unseen boundaries, was finding it difficult to work as she normally would have. That is, hyper-focused and unrelenting. Shepard's ability to read Prothean was the opposite: fickle, fleeting. Forcing it out of her, having her sit and stare at datapads waiting for the translation to come to her, had been as effective a process as chipping at a stone wall with your own fingernails. All it had resulted in so far had been a few snatches of random phrasing and migraines for Shepard. The headaches then stole any patience Shepard had left for the work, and she'd retreat to her room for a hot shower to alleviate the pounding behind her eyes. It would have been easier to wring smoke out of a wet washcloth.
But something Shepard had said gave Liara an idea, and in her own way she was working through the possibilities. Without being fully conscious of it though, she was still staring pointedly at Shepard. Under Liara's intense scrutiny, Shepard's shoulders scrunched up towards her ears. "What?"
"...that would actually be far more in-line with traditional understandings of the Prothean language. Instinct, not skill." Liara stood suddenly, surprising Shepard. The human rocked back against the sink counter she was sitting on, eyes wide. "The collective unconscious!"
"The what?" Shepard asked, voice taking on that uneasy, gentle quality she grabbed whenever Scientist Liara came roaring to the surface with theories and tests. Keep your head down, let the master work.
"The collective unconscious," Liara said again, bright with the possibilities now pinging behind her gaze at rapid-fire speed. "It's long been theorized that there was an added layer necessary to understand Prothean writings, the proper pair of 'lenses,' if the metaphor is properly translating. Every attempt to create a working lexicon of Prothean symbols has failed spectacularly with few exceptions. When we met, for example, I was able to recognize the symbol for Vigil and a few other scattered pieces that, collectively, made little sense."
Shepard nodded, a much-appreciated sign to continue.
"I don't know why I didn't think of this to begin with! Yes, there are absolutely other methods we can try, perhaps we can put in a request with Serrice University for some of their relic casts. I have the trust of a few of the adjunct professors and it might aid you to have something solid in your hands. And Saren still needs to give you clearance to the Spectre office where the tablets themselves are being kept; the sooner I can get you in front of them the better. Perhaps after I speak with him there tomorrow, he'll be more agreeable towards you once he knows we've got new direction to go in." Liara had begun pacing but didn't seem to realize it until she got ready to make her next point. Her next point, whatever it was, stalled her instantly and Shepard cocked her head. Liara's sudden fire sputtered, a harsh wind blowing over an intellectual bonfire. The asari glanced at Shepard shyly, her fingers fiddling with her labcoat.
"...there is also the meld."
Liara's voice would never be weak, years of home schooling and asari governesses demanding projection befitting the only daughter of a matriarch had seen to that, but Shepard would have been deaf not to have heard the embarrassment. But what was the Meld? Why was it embarrassing? If it could help Shepard help Liara, she would be fine with it. So long as it didn't hurt!
"What would the Meld do?" She asked, innocently.
Her question surprised Liara, and the nervousness in the young asari's eyes grew tenfold. "Y-you mean- have you not heard of the meld? But, in the past you've mentioned..." In the past she'd mentioned rough-and-tumble gangsters engaging with asari dancers, yes. But in that moment, Liara realized Shepard had never once hinted that she understood what went on during a sexual encounter with an asari. Which for one thing meant she'd never been with an asari (a fact that greatly pleased Liara's subconscious, biological instincts), and for another meant that Liara would have to explain what melding was. That was going to be difficult, considering she would have to explain the clinical aspects of the meld to one of the few creatures in the galaxy she might one day be interested in exploring the... physical aspects with. She was going to make an utter fool of herself. Is this what health professors had to deal with on an everyday basis? Oh, goddess.
"Well, the meld is... well it allows an asari to see into another's mind. It's a joining of consciousnesses. Before we came to learn that there were other species in the galaxy, melding was far more prevalent in asari culture. It can be used to share information, recover memories, handle great emotional duress... and-"
Shepard interrupted her before she could get into asari mating rituals, and she wasn't quite sure if she was relieved.
"Wait, so asari can read minds?" She looked curious, but also scared. Mind-reading was inherently linked with trickery and invasions of privacy to her, a number of old human films and stories had seen to that. She'd never quite gotten over the idea of hearing someone scream inside your own head after she'd read Stephen King's The Shining back when she was a new 10th Street Red initiate exploring the archives of the old library that served as their watering hole. Not that that had been the creepiest thing in the book, but still.
Liara sensed Shepard's apprehension and her tone became reassuring, years of schooling on inter-species relations coming to the forefront of her mind. "In a way, yes. But it is not something we are able to hide, so you would never have to worry about me reading your thoughts without your knowledge. It is something we will always ask permission for; anything less is actually considered criminal by asari law. It is... we only meld with people we care for, or people we want to aid. It can be abused of course, as anything can be, but Shepard I would never do so. Certainly not to you."
"Does it... how does it- well, what would you need me to do?" Shepard asked.
Mild panic. Liara's crest itched with the desire to meld, a biological reaction she was helpless to prevent. Now that the thought, the possibility of melding with Shepard, was in her mind Liara wasn't sure she'd have the mental fortitude to quell it. Each young maiden yearned for their first intimate meld, though many were warned away from short-lived species lest they get their hearts broken when their partners passed. In all her years of study, spurred on by an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, Liara had never met a person she so desperately wanted to know. And for asari, one did not know someone until you had the chance to see what their minds might show you.
What would Shepard's mind be like? Liara imagined it would be warm, comforting in the protective sort of manner that Shepard was physically. Liara remembered the feeling of Shepard's hand on the curve of her spine, a casual display of affection and ownership that still made the young asari swoon to think about. Would she see glimpses of Shepard's childhood if they melded? How open would the human's mind be to her? She'd read that humans naturally resisted the meld; their minds were incredibly complex and resisted outside presences. Asari psychologists theorized that this had less to do with the mechanics of human thought and more to do with the minute fluctuations and machinations that controlled their emotions. Humans, unlike other highly intelligent creatures like asari and salarians, could become physically exhausted by their own emotions. Humans in the 22nd century died more often by the effects of mental illnesses than they did by physical ones. They were proving to be a fascinating case study for the asari scientists that studied the effects of the meld on other creatures.
"Ah... well, perhaps we could first move to the sitting area? O-or my workspace upstairs, if you'd be comfortable with that."
Shepard heard the nervousness in Liara's voice and it surprisingly managed to put her at ease. She didn't think someone so nervous could secretly be plotting something sinister. So, when she answered, "Sure, upstairs is fine," her voice was calm and unbothered. Liara had never shown her any ill will in any manner, and Shepard found herself oddly at peace around the asari. She had a calming effect on the air around her, and she was just so genuine that it was becoming easier and easier for Shepard to be genuine back.
She used humor and charm to deal with people she needed things from, but at heart Shepard was a bit of an emotionally stagnant introvert. She knew it, too. If she could have, she would have spent all her time on Earth hanging out with Brooklyn, spending 90% of her budget on cooking real food, and doing odd jobs. People were self-absorbed and opinionated and Shepard preferred animals. Everything was easier with animals.
Liara was different though, Shepard thought as she followed her upstairs, absentmindedly tracing the flattering lines of the asari's lab coat with her eyes. Liara was an individual that valued honesty, she'd said so herself and seemed to live by that value. The asari had given several hints that her upbringing may have been political in some sense; usually the children of public figures were remiss to speak of their actual childhoods but they were fiercely vocal about their values, particularly when those values rebelled against the wishes of their parents. Shepard couldn't be sure unless Liara actually told her about her childhood, because Shepard knew nothing about asari politics and hierarchies and wouldn't even begin to know where to look. She wouldn't want to try anyway; finding things out about the people in your life mean infinitely more if they're the ones telling you. Tracking info down like some sort of amateur sleuth with nothing better to do was invasive and unnecessary.
Liara had been busy. There were datapads and coffee cups scattered everywhere in the upstairs lounge and Shepard's nose twitched. An itch beneath her skin at the sight of so many dirty dishes sprang up immediately and before Liara could gather the courage to bring up their oncoming meld Shepard asked her to wait a moment. The human then bustled around the room, picking up cups and the occasional ration bar wrapper, a look of detached concentration on her face. Liara stood idly by, blinking owlishly, while Shepard hurried back downstairs with an armful of mugs and a fistful of trash. The sound of the faucet in the kitchen turning on full-blast was heard, followed by the return of Shepard a few minutes later with a content expression.
"...Shepard?"
"The only messes that bother me are food messes. I don't mind doing the dishes, so if you could bring all your cups down at the end of the day I'd appreciate it." Shepard grinned sheepishly. "I get itchy thinking about moldy coffee cups."
"Oh!" Liara gasped. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize... normally I'm on the go, it's been so long since I've been able to drink coffee at leisure. I didn't mean to cause you distress."
"No worries!" Shepard reassured. "I'm not up here that often so I didn't see any of it until now. Just for future reference. And if there are any pet peeves you have, like me staying up too late or making too much noise in the kitchen, just let me know. I'll try to fix them." She punctuated her reassurance with a gentle hand on Liara's shoulder, and now that she was up close Liara detected the scent of garlic and the sweet-smelling cooking oil Shepard liked to use. One scent was pleasant, the other overpowering.
"Well, now that you mention it, that ingredient you use when you cook... garlic, if I'm remembering correctly? Would it be possible for you to wash your hands after handling it? It's... very strong." Liara's nose crinkled, as though it were attempting to aid in her description.
Shepard retracted her hand and gave it a sniff. She chuckled when she answered, "Sure thing. Sometimes I have to remind myself that not everybody's Italian. We're always happy to swim in the stuff."
Liara cocked her head. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
Shepard's eyes lit up. "That's right, we've never actually talked about this! You always seem so sad when I mention the whole orphan deal, so this might cheer you up. I may know next to nothing about my parents, but I do know that I'm at least some part Italian. It's the reason why I'm so into cooking! See this?" Shepard reached just under the collar of her short-sleeved C-Sec lounge shirt, a loose gray article of clothing that was soft and smelled of fresh laundry. She pulled out a thin gold chain with two small medallions attached, both also a brightly polished gold. "Ever since I can remember, I've had this. It's the only thing I have that connects me to my past, before the Reds."
"What is it?" Liara asked, stepping closer to try and better understand what was being shown to her. Instinct told her it was another weird human allegiance thing, one of their many forms of familial connection.
"It's a Saints medal! Well, one of them is. The other tells me that I was, at some point, baptized. The writing on the baptism medal is Italian, so I figure that means I must be! At least a little bit, anyway." But Liara had no idea what 'Italian,' meant, or even what Italy was. She knew woefully little about Earth, about human nations and cultures. She really only knew what Shepard had told her about Old Manhattan and some necessary basics about the history of the Alliance.
So, Shepard told Liara about how beautiful Italy was, about how in the late 2120s a few rich individuals made a concerted effort to turn most of the country into a cultural preserve, blocking nearly all attempts at further development and channeling resources into the protection of the country's environment. Venice, close to sinking completely, had been raised and reinforced. The government, unstable for so long, had calmed. Italy wasn't the only country on Earth to have been granted such protections, just the one Shepard cared about the most. (Though she wouldn't have been averse to checking out New Zealand).
Still, Liara didn't understand what any of it meant. She wasn't human. She didn't know their story. Shepard struggled to articulate why it mattered that she had a history to connect to. Humans clung to their nationalities and cultures the way turians clung to discipline and their sense of honor. Shepard knew nothing about her family, couldn't even be sure that the name she had was the one her parents meant for her, but she knew she was in some way connected to Italy. That reassured her, and she'd spent much of her young life learning everything she could about Italian-American culture and Italian history. Of course, Italian representation in her home country's media was woefully underwhelming; it didn't take a genius to know that Hollywood cared more about the profitability of romanticizing mob life than it did the genuine portrayal of Italian people.
Finding out that her people used to get lynched had also been a very weird discovery. She'd tried to skim through that particular chapter of the textbook.
And despite her lack of understanding, Liara listened with rapt attention. Not because she was curious, but because this was the most open Shepard had been with her since they'd met. The human spoke with a clear intellect and great care for what she described, and her eyes were bright. She seemed happy, positive, dare she say even upbeat.
"I know it's weird," Shepard said when Liara asked again why it mattered so much to her. "But... it just feels nice to know yourself. Acting like... like knowing I'm some part Italian somehow helps me know who I am as a person. It gives me some level of history I wouldn't have otherwise. I can't say, 'yeah I inherited my eyes from my dad,' but I can at least say, 'I'm passionate about food because I'm Italian.' Does that make sense?"
"I suppose... but do all Italian people care about the culinary arts equally?"
"It's deeply ingrained in our culture, so I'd have to say yes. With some give and take, of course."
And perhaps it did make sense to Liara, in that moment. When Shepard said 'our,' and not 'they,' she understood.
"So this Saints medal, it's meant to offer protection? Like a totem, of sorts?" Liara asked, hands folded in her lap. They'd migrated to the couch and sat rather close together, shoulders almost touching. Shepard had shown her a few pictures of what she'd called 'wine country,' on her omni-tool and Liara had no problem admitting that Italy was quite beautiful. The floating city had been particularly interesting, a marvel of engineering and that infamous human stubbornness. Shepard nodded and actually reached up to undo the clasp at the back of her neck, handling it gingerly and passing her necklace into Liara's care. The metal was warm, and the human writing inscribed on both medals was foreign to Liara. But the depictions of human figures were clear enough, though their manner of dress was unfamiliar. "What totem do you possess?" Liara asked.
When Shepard did not immediately answer, Liara looked up. Her question had dulled Shepard's enthusiasm, and the human's eyes had clouded over. Her shoulders had sunk. "You know, it's funny. I just realized something." She gestured to one of the two medals, which depicted a human male cradling a child. Both had halos around their heads. "Saint Anthony. The patron saint of lost things. Fitting, isn't it?" There was a quiet pause, Liara sensing that Shepard had more to say. The human looked introspective, distracted. She looked like a person that had taken an unexpected detour down memory lane. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. "I wonder if my parents knew something I didn't."
Not for the first time and certainly not the last, Liara's heart broke for Shepard. She sounded so small, so uncertain, and Liara could practically taste the pain hiding behind the self-deprecating humor.
Liara glanced back down at the necklace in her grasp. She took one end in each hand and raised it, turning back to Shepard. "May I?"
Blushing, Shepard acquiesced after she shook herself from the fog she'd entered and turned. Liara placed the necklace back around the girl's neck, struggling with the unfamiliar mechanics of the clasp for a moment before it closed and she let go. She kept her hands steady on Shepard's shoulders however, rubbing reassuring circles with her thumbs while she thought of what to say.
"In my experience..." She began. Shepard turned her head to listen. "Lost things usually end up found. Maybe not always by the people that lost them, but by new hands. They find new homes. Like my research with the Protheans; while it's highly unlikely that a Prothean will ever walk the halls of the Citadel again, our people have reclaimed it. Made it into something new. And we never forget where our gifts come from; we honor and remember their creators even if we don't really know them. I don't know your parents any more than you do, Shepard... but without them you wouldn't be here. So, wherever they are, I'm grateful to them."
There was a sniffle. "Well, shit." Before Liara had a chance to grow concerned, Shepard turned back around with a familiar grin. Her eyes were watery, but she was no longer upset. "Why didn't you warn me you could be such a smooth talker?"
Liara, bashful, ducked her head and ran a hand over her crest. Shepard watched. "W-well," she stuttered. "You were upset, I wanted to help."
"You did. Thanks. So, this melding thing... how does it work?"
"Well," Liara began, turning to face Shepard more fully. Shepard did the same, mirroring Liara's position. "All you'll need to do is relax. Humans resist the meld initially, so the best thing you can do is trust me. Let me in, trust that I won't hurt you. Have you ever meditated?" Shepard shrugged, which probably meant no. Liara worried at her bottom lip, wondering if it would be too bold to let Shepard know that she could hold Liara's hands if it might help. Usually, having a grounding force was a great aid for first-timers. "There's a phrase, a mantra really, that I'll say to focus myself. Are you, should I- well." Liara took a deep, steadying breath. She could do this. They'd just shared a tender moment, which meant that there really wouldn't be a better time to try this with Shepard. She couldn't let nerves get in the way.
She asked if Shepard was ready. Shepard said yes.
Very well. "Embrace eternity."
Liara's eyes turned black, and for a heart stopping moment Liara was terrified that Shepard would reject her outright. Right before she went under, as her eyes opened she caught sight of Shepard's eyes widening in fear. Rational thought told Liara that the fear was owed to the sudden and drastic change to her eye color; she'd forgotten to warn Shepard that that would happen. But then she found herself slipping below the surface, found Shepard's mind as easily as she would have found her own nose. Finding Shepard's mind had never been the problem however, it was getting in that gave Liara cause for concern. She'd only ever melded with other asari and that was for innocent, platonic means. Her mother, for example, had often calmed Liara after a nightmare with a gentle meld, shushing her fears and rocking her back to slumber.
Melding with Shepard without knowing what she was looking for or how to even get her foot in the door at all was definitely going to be a process. First, she gently pushed at the natural barrier between them, felt it give with an impressive level of bubble-like surface tension. There was no sudden cry of pain, no retaliation on Shepard's part, so Liara tried again with more force. It was vaguely like working your way through a liquid house of mirrors, passing from one place to another all while catching glimpses of things that might be there but also might just as easily be fifty feet away. The walls of Shepard's consciousness bent and gave to accommodate her, which was a good sign, but they did not allow her to pass.
Shepard must know that I'm here. Surely, she feels my presence.
She tried calling out, projecting warmth and safety, reassurance that she was not there to steal or to harm. That sent out a ripple over the protective barrier, the first sign of contact being made, and the progress spurred Liara onward. She tried again, varying her calls, projecting different feelings and hoping that one combination might let her through. Shepard was receptive to warmth, to openness and honesty. Liara imagined that it would have been very difficult for anyone to force their way into Shepard's mind, and knew that there would be no small amount of pain on Shepard's part.
I'm sure her mind is beautiful... she's captured my attention in such a short amount of time. There is a quick, analytical wit behind the aggressive front, empathy to balance the intense survival skills. A drive to understand, a desire to belong and be valued. She is so very human, so worthy of life.
By the time the barrier gave and Liara was allowed to slip inside, she was already exhausted. She was not used to having to project herself so loudly, to have to extend her own consciousness so vigorously. Melding with a resistant partner was like using your mind to climb a sheer ice wall with your bare hands. Sweat had begun to bead at her temples back on the physical plane, and she'd subconsciously reached out to grasp Shepard's hand to steady herself. Shepard, for her part, had gone completely still. Her eyes were at half mast, pupils blown. It was a trance-like state, one that Liara's soft projections had lulled her into.
Now that Liara was inside, she knew she had to be quick. As much as she wanted to take her time and familiarize herself with Shepard's consciousness, maybe browse through the memories closest to the surface and see what Shepard saw, she couldn't. If her notion was correct, she'd have to dig deep. Any sign of the collective unconscious within Shepard's mind would be hidden; the girl knew next to nothing about the Protheans themselves which suggested that any contact with Prothean data or devices would have been made when she was very young. So far back that she couldn't remember it.
Liara wouldn't have the capacity to wade through tides of memories. She'd have to go far, like a diver seeking buried treasure, and hope that some sign of a Prothean presence would gleam at her from the ocean floor.
With a deep, steadying breath, she took the plunge.
Shepard would never be sure how long the meld lasted, because when she opened her eyes it felt like only mere seconds had passed. But then Liara was there before her, gasping for breath and shaking. Alarmed, Shepard reached out and steadied the exhausted maiden, who had raised a hand to her glistening forehead and was struggling to string words together in a coherent sentence.
"Yes," she gasped. "There, deep in- when you were young..." She sunk into Shepard's hold, collapsing against the human's shoulder. The exhaustion hadn't physically hit her until she'd ended the meld, and when it did it came all at once. Black spots danced across her vision, and her mouth was dry. If they were to make any discernible sense of the initial impressions Liara had received, they were going to need to practice. A lot. "Forgive me, Shepard, I was not expecting it be so difficult."
"Are you okay?" Shepard asked, tucking an arm around the asari's shoulders and pulling her in close. So what if the action made heat rush to her cheeks? Liara needed the warmth.
"Y-yes, I will be. I should be fine after some rest."
"Should I keep an eye on you?" Shepard asked. She hadn't been expecting this, this sudden exhaustion. The drastic shift was alarming. Was it normal? Was Liara okay? "You're kind of worrying me."
Even though Liara tried to reassure her that she fine, that Shepard didn't need to fuss, Shepard still insisted on escorting the asari to bed. Then, before Liara had a chance to call her back, Shepard disappeared downstairs only to return with a steaming mug of tea.
"Green, to help you relax." Shepard said. Then she pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards, folding her arms over the top of it. "So, see anything interesting?"
Liara sipped at her tea, crest itching with a heady mix of pleasure and embarrassment at being fussed over so caringly. Shepard had gone so far as to arrange her pillows so Liara could sit up and drink her tea without difficulty. "Yes," she replied, exhaustion clear in her voice. "I couldn't tell you what is was for certain, but there was something there. A... presence. Something that was not yours."
"That sounds ominous."
"It's not harmful," Liara clarified. "What I detected seemed to be dormant, which would explain why your ability to understand the Prothean language is so scattered. I'll... I'd like to try again later, after I've brushed up on the latest papers written about the collective unconscious. They'll help point me in the right direction."
"After you get some sleep, you mean," Shepard said with a grin, and it was a statement, not a question. Liara took another sip of her tea and nodded acquiescently.
There aren't enough Italians in media. Liara's a cutie. Morinth isn't going to be happy that Shepard's been turning down Eclipse's invitations to drink.
-Cel