A/N: If this chapter seems somewhat disjointed, it's because it was written with many weeks in between each writing session. I've had a busy summer, and it's getting busier still.
Poor Liara. I promise things will get better for her! Really!
It was all too much.
There were limits to any individual's ability to adapt, and Liara had hit hers with about as much grace as an aircar had in an impact with a mountainside.
A week ago, her biggest concern had been making sure her equipment was set up and her notes were in order for the excavation. The rest of the galaxy – and all its problems – were a distant concern at best, with the highlight of her day being the chance to sit and reflect on the people that once had occupied the rooms she now carefully examined.
Then it all quite literally blew up in her face.
She was nearly kidnapped by a mercenary hired by her own insane and potentially mind controlled mother, rescued at the last second by a woman who couldn't have been more like a hero from legend if she'd tried, and taken her place aboard an advanced vessel on a mission to stop a madman from attempting to destroy the galaxy.
Then she'd been forced to murder more people in a day than she typically saw in a year, had a vision of death and destruction dumped wholesale into her mind, and had her rescuer and subject of growing affection revealed to be a psychopath out on a mission of galactic mercy for reasons entirely unknown who, for some inexplicable reason, still wanted to spend time with her.
She groaned and rubbed her eyes, sending small streaks darting around her view of the Normandy's darkened medical bay.
Goddess, what do I do?
A part of her wanted to run screaming to the nearest sane authority figure. She was a archaeologist, for goodness' sake. She was suited to writing papers and doing research, not gallivanting about the galaxy on a mad heroic quest. There were people, good people, whose job it was to handle things when they went haywire. Surely she could send a message to one of them – maybe her embassy, or the remnants of her family, if they held any sway at all after her mother's betrayal.
There was another part of her, as well, one that had been growing more vocal of late. It was... angry. Fed up with nearly a century of mistreatment, and of everything that could go wrong in her life doing so in the worst possible way. It was upset with her mother for falling to Saren's madness, angry at Shepard for unknowingly toying with her heart and for leading her on a killing spree through a colony, furious with Saren for effectively ruining her life... and that was only the recent problems she'd had. There was a whole list of things that her rage blamed in her life, and it wanted nothing more than vengeance for those slights, consequences be damned.
Liara took a deep, slow breath.
She was an adult. Unthinking terror and blind rage would not solve anything now, and the simple fact of the matter was that there wasn't anybody around that she could hand her problems off to, even if she had wanted to.
And, if she was being honest with herself, she didn't really want to.
Yes, there were parts of her that were afraid and angry, but they weren't all of her. There was another part of her that downright reveled in the opportunity to actually make a difference in the galaxy. To be doing something big, meaningful, and important. To be able to offer a contribution, and to have the people that did things to listen carefully and then follow her suggestions when they made sense.
Here, aboard the Normandy, not only did she have a chance to have her work appreciated and considered on its own merits, but she got to see first hand the result of said research. When she said "this looks like a prothean office foyer for technological development work; there should be a split ahead and a high ceiling if it's like the other buildings of this type," the team she was working with would use that to avoid an ambush.
There was something exciting, terrifying, and more than a little addicting to having her knowledge be useful. Not later on, to further somebody's career or their academic standing, but right then and there, in a way that truly made the difference between life and death.
To make matters worse – or better, depending on the point of view – nothing had substantially changed with the information Shepard had given her. The mission she had found herself tangled up in was still of extreme import, Shepard was still the person in the best position to complete it successfully, and staying aboard the Normandy was still one of the safest places to be in a galaxy that hated her family.
Speaking of family, if you wish to see Mother again, Shepard is likely the best chance at that, too.
It was fascinating, in a way. Very little had changed in practice, but beneath the surface, a great shift had taken – and was taking – place.
And you must decide how you feel about that.
It was clear to her now that the dream she'd pretended she wasn't having – the one where the beautiful and clever swashbuckling hero swept her from danger into a life of grand adventure – wasn't happening. Reality was far more nuanced and far less glorious, with the hero anything but, the mission tied up in her own personal life in deeply painful ways, and with her own role in things taking a distinct turn for the morally ambiguous. Yes, her actions in the colony could be justified, but... very few people truly set out to be horrible monsters. The ones who were caught or realized their mistakes always said that the choices they made seemed reasonable, nay, unavoidable at the time.
Her mother had always warned her of the ends justifying the means. It wasn't quite the same – yet – but it wasn't a far step from the kind of fight she'd been through on Feros to sacrificing others for the greater good. She didn't want to wake up one day and realize that she'd been talked, tiny step by tiny step, into becoming somebody that brought suffering to others.
And that, really, was the most dangerous threat that Shepard posed to her. She might be unnerved by her mannerisms and afraid of her supposed unpredictability, but those were instinctual fears. They were valid – the commander was capable of horrifying things – but the real danger stemmed from not from what Shepard wasn't, but from what she was: Intelligent, reasonable, and persuasive.
Everything Shepard did could be explained away and neatly rationalized. Something she personally found uncomfortable could be dissected into tiny pieces to the point where context was lost, and evaluated in such a way as to make her feel foolish for even considering the objection in the first place. It was a dangerous power, and one that Shepard had showed no hesitation in using.
The danger is not that she will place a gun to your head and force you to do something.
The danger is that she will place a gun in your hand and that you will accept it eagerly.
And worse, the commander had already done precisely that.
She groaned into her pillow as images of the day's battle returned with a vengeance from the corner of her mind she'd shoved them into, bit her cheek as the screams of the injured and the dying hammered through her head, screwed her eyes shut tight enough to make her face ache, all to make the far-too-intense memories stop.
It was the best we could possibly do, Shepard's voice calmly reminded her, cutting through the torrent of guilt and self-loathing like a surgeon's scalpel. Everything hurts worse when you're tired.
She forced her muscles to relax, unclenching her fists and letting the piece of cheek she'd caught in her teeth go, wincing slightly when the warm taste of copper flooded her mouth.
Rest. She needed rest. And while she doubted sleep would come easily later that evening, she had endured enough today to make even the simple act of holding still on a soft surface enough to let waves of suppressed weariness roll through her.
Later, she thought weakly, I'll deal with this all... later.
In her cabin, Shepard flopped down on the bed with a long sigh.
That went... surprisingly well, she thought, smiling into the pillow.
Liara had taken things better than she had expected, given the reaction she'd experienced from her in the meld. That, or she was far better at hiding her emotional state than she'd let on initially, although Shepard really hadn't gotten the impression that the young asari was secretly a master of deception.
Maybe the ability to get into the minds of others lends them a better sense of empathy than humans possess, she thought with a yawn. Or maybe Liara's just a particularly understanding sort.
In either case, she was grateful for the experience. The memories she'd seen through Liara's eyes... even now, the moments she'd relived stood out among her memories, as the knotted ball of emotion tied to each one lent it a particular bouquet that made recalling them against the relative monotony of the rest of her life's experiences far easier.
I hope she can be convinced to do that again, Shepard mused. While she wouldn't call the associations the asari had with her memories particularly positive, they added an element to the moments she'd touched on that she found invaluable. Even if Shepard lacked the physiology to get the full depth of the experience on her own, the side effects – the rush of adrenaline from a close escape, the ache in her chest that she assumed was associated with sadness – remained, and helped provide a key.
One day, perhaps, medical science would progress to the point where the parts of her that were missing could repaired or replaced. It would make her a different person, she knew, and that would be a bit like dying in a way – but after experiencing the intensity of what life was like for everybody else, she hungered for it. Satisfaction and curiosity were wonderful things, but when they were all one possessed, they grew stale.
I want to know what drives people to tears at funerals, what compels them to lay down their lives for others, what inspires them to dedicate their lives to things so far removed from their own interest.
She folded her hands behind her head and propped her head up to look out the window at the stars. She wanted those things, yes, but odds were good they would never be hers.
At least, not without help.
She was growing to be grateful for the existence of the asari. She hadn't been before – the need to avoid discovery had overridden any benefits their unique abilities might offer – but now that that particular obstacle was gone, she was decidedly interested in what they could offer her.
And, truth be told, what one asari in particular can offer.
There was something profoundly enjoyable about the socially awkward archaeologist's company, she found. Something about Liara's naivete meshed well with her own difficulties, with Liara's lack of graces meshing well with Shepard's inability to care about them. Every conversation Shepard had with her was always just about what it was about, without hidden subtexts or ulterior motives complicating things.
And it helped that the girl was no slouch, intellectually speaking. Shepard knew she was clever, at least by the standards of other members of her race, but there was only so far one could go in the galaxy without a proper education... and Shepard barely had half of one. She'd managed to pick up a great deal, both in the library as a child and in the course of her career, but there was a marked difference between reading for pleasure and thoroughly learning a complex topic.
Which only made her hope all the more strongly that Liara accepted her request to continue as they had been.
But you put that choice in her hands, Shepard thought with a sigh, rolling over and closing her eyes. You loaded the dice as best you could, but in the end, you still have to throw them.
Well.
Here's to hoping.
Liara awoke with a start, and for once, there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary going on.
She closed her eyes and sighed, enjoying the relative peace and quiet of her small corner of the Normandy. No obligations, no complications, no urgent demands... just ever-present hum of the engines, the background whooshing of the ventilation system, and the nearly inaudible murmur of people on the other side of the wall in the crew commons.
It was nearly enough to make her just put her head back down and rest. Goddess only knew she'd earned at least one night without other people or some new crisis beating down her door. Her stomach vigorously protested, however, and while tiredness might now be winning over hunger, she knew there was no way she would make it through the night after a day as exhausting as the one she'd just had without eating something for dinner.
Even if it meant dealing with people, or...
Well. Shepard.
She knew that her usual approach of "look as much up beforehand as possible" would be next to useless. After all, Shepard had clearly hidden that particular aspect of herself well enough to avoid even having it mentioned in any of the biographies that Liara had managed to find. She couldn't simply assume the crew knew, either, as Shepard had clearly said it was something she'd prefer to keep private.
You cannot ask the crew, you cannot find information in books or on the extranet, so how exact-
Her train of thought slid to a halt and she shoved her face into her palm.
Doctor Chakwas had to know. Not only was she the commander's personal physician for the duration of her time on the Normandy, she had also been the one to tell Liara that Shepard meant her no harm when she was coming down to explain the horror she'd just endured inside the Shepard's mind.
She tugged the boots back on her jumpsuit and headed for the door. With a little rest, her stomach was demanding dinner and her mind was, once again, demanding answers.
If Shepard had to point to a single experience that convinced her that the races of the galaxy could manage to coexist, it was the Normandy's mess hall at suppertime.
Meals aboard a warship like the Normandy were always on the limited side, as the prototype vessel was clearly more aimed at proving technical capability over ease of use and creature comforts. The staggered shifts normally helped spread some of the load out to keep the mess from getting overcrowded, and the inclusion of meals that were mostly prepared ahead of time meant that the compact mess facilities could keep the ship's company fed mostly edible food for even extended deployments.
But it was one thing to prepare meals for a small subsection of the ship's crew during normal duty and another thing entirely to prepare a meal for the full company plus several alien species that were never part of the intended roster.
Yet somehow her crew had managed. They'd clearly had to break out some of the emergency survival supplies – specifically, the portable stove and folding tables – and were clearly putting cooking utensils to creative use, but they'd gotten a system that was working by the time Shepard finished her nap and rolled out of her cabin.
"Ah, Commander!" Pressly saluted at her approach. "I'm sorry about the mess, but I'm afraid that the Normandy's designers didn't have this sort of crew complement in mind when they designed her."
Shepard shook her head. "Pressly, I only want to know what's for dinner and where I can find a plate."
"Plates are in the dishwasher, ma'am, since we ran out. As for selection, I believe the marines decided to cook up some of everything."
"They would," she snorted and glanced around the common room. "Well, as long as it's working. Just make sure the coffee pot is cleaned out and back in the coffee maker before morning or we risk a mutiny."
Pressly chuckled. "I think you can be assured of that much, ma'am."
"Excellent. Carry on, Pressly," she said with an approving nod before slipping past him to take a place.
Dinner was evidently an exercise in "if some is good, more is gooder," but Shepard couldn't care less. The smell of the marines' 'some of everything' had drawn her mind onto a high-speed express track with the singular destination of food.
It amused her at times how far mankind had come from its evolutionary ancestors in some ways, and how much a slave people were to their baser instincts in others. The reds had kept a dog at one point, a mutt that a few people had taking a liking to and were willing to feed. It was a decent hound, but you simply could not trust it near anything edible. It would look guilty as sin afterward, but no matter how it was punished or scolded it would still steal anything left out.
Like the hound, she knew that growing up hungry had left its mark on her. Even in the military, where a shortage of food was never really something that happened, she'd found herself making sure that she knew where she could get something to eat. Being a biotic only made matters worse, as in addition to some very effective conditioning about meals, she also had a physical need to eat more than everybody else. The element zero buried in her skull had its advantages, but there was no escaping the laws of physics, and the energy she spent on her powers had to come from somewhere.
And that somewhere was her stomach. Or, if her stomach was empty, her liver, where the body naturally kept glucose in reserve for emergencies. And if that was depleted, her stores of fat. If those were gone, it would begin cannibalizing muscle tissue.
There was more than one reason she wanted to avoid needing to use her abilities for a few days. She'd blown through her reserves and then some in the fight through Feros, and random hypoglycemic crashes were not something she wanted to deal with while trying to navigate the byzantine and frequently dangerous realm of corporate politics on Noveria.
So she loaded her plate with reconstituted potatoes, sausage that probably contained mostly meat, snagged some garlic bread somebody had made to go with the pasta, and piled most of the remaining fruit salad into a bowl and balanced that on top.
Beside her, Ashley let out a low whistle at the sight of her heaping platter. "Dang, ma'am. No offense intended, but my mother always told me not to eat anything bigger than my head, and I think that qualifies."
"Ha!" Wrex barked. "Your mother doesn't know the first thing about a proper meal." He nodded approvingly at Shepard's plate. "Nobody else on this ship eats like it matters."
It would stand to reason that the krogan mercenary has known something of hunger.
"Not everyone has lived through hunger, Wrex," she reminded the old krogan.
"Ah, it builds character," Wrex rumbled. "Teaches you to enjoy the proper things in life."
Ashley sighed. "And what, exactly, are the proper things in life?"
Shepard tuned out the incipient philosophical argument and focused on her food. The chief's somewhat... antiquated religious views often lent a sometimes hostile tone to her debates on the purpose of life. Clearly, she'd found an answer that worked for her, but she still wasn't happy with everyone else finding their own way, and the condescending air it gave her when she talked about it tended to irritate people.
It didn't really bother Shepard, but she wanted food more than an argument. She'd keep half an ear out to make sure she didn't need to keep people in line, but aside from that... if they wanted to spend their meal yelling at each other, they were more than welcome to.
"Excuse me? Is this seat taken?"
She blinked out of her reverie and glanced up to see Liara peering down at her over the edge of her tray. "Not to my knowledge," she said, swallowing a half-chewed mouthful of bread. "Feel free."
She watched out of the corner of her eye as Liara settled carefully into place. She was always so careful, Shepard noticed. She might be socially clumsy – or at least she insisted on it on a regular basis – but when it came to physical grace, the young asari was as elegant as a dancer. Part of that came with age, Shepard knew. One couldn't spend the better part of a century in a body and not learn where the corners were, but there was more to it than that.
Liara noticed her gaze, her skin darkening slightly with the awareness of Shepard's attention. "Is something wrong?" she asked, pausing with her napkin halfway unfolded on her lap.
Shepard shook her head. "I was just noticing that you never seem to bump in to anything," she said. "Most new arrivals spend the first week smacking their elbows into everything on this ship."
"Ah!" Liara laughed. "You will have to thank Professor Neesa for that."
"I'm sorry, who?" Shepard said, canting her head to the side.
"One of my many instructors at the University," Liara explained while she finished setting up for her meal. "Archaeology is often a delicate science, Commander. We must walk among ruins that are frequently very fragile, and it would be terrible to accidentally damage something out of clumsiness. Neesa was the one in charge of educating... I believe you would call them undergraduates... in how not to damage invaluable dig sites inadvertently. Add that on top of a mother that believed in the value of grace and poise, and, well.." she trailed off.
"I think I understand," Shepard smirked. "Oh, speaking of your mother-"
Liara flinched at the change of topic, and Shepard lowered her voice.
"I'm sorry to bring it up, but I'm going to start planning for our Noveria operation while we're at the Citadel and I need to know if you want to be on the ground team."
"I... yes, I should be," Liara said, closing her eyes. "That is why you recruited me, after all, is it not?"
Shepard nodded slowly. "It wasn't the only reason, but it was one of them, yes."
Liara smiled faintly. "I do not hold any great hope that she can be reasoned with, Commander, not after today, but... I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if I did not try."
Shepard nodded again. She didn't share the sentiment – had it been up to her alone, given what they'd learned of Saren's mind control capabilities from Shiala, she'd have just shot her and been done with it – but she understood where it came from. It was, in a roundabout way, the same philosophy that she followed.
Act with the best of your knowledge and to the best of your ability, and regret will have no hold over you.
She paused. Technically, she was in charge of the mission. She could just shoot Benezia and go through her files to find out what she needed. It would certainly be easier, and almost certainly safer than trying to take the woman alive.
But there was no way Liara would stand for that, and given the events of the last few hours, she'd actually grown to appreciate the relationship she had with the asari. Doing something to jeopardize that seemed... counterproductive.
"I understand," she said quietly. "On a potentially more satisfying note, Kaidan and Tali will be joining me tomorrow morning when I make the call to ExoGeni regarding the state of affairs here. Do you want to watch?"
"Watch?" Liara asked. "Watch what? The call?"
"Well, yes," Shepard said, her mouth widening into a predatory smile, "it's not every day that you get to watch the senior management of a galactic corporation get browbeaten and blackmailed."
"I'm still not convinced that's a good idea, ma'am," Kaidan said from up the table, his brow furrowing. "They're not going to roll over just because you're threatening them with bluster."
I forget sometimes that he doesn't know it's not bluster, she thought wearily. "I understand your concerns, Alenko, but you know as well as I do that nothing will come of it if we wait for things trickle down through official channels. Oh, their stock price might take a hit, but it's far more likely that they'll dump all the blame on the former middle management and walk away without anything meaningful happening."
"I never said I liked the alternatives, ma'am, just that I'm worried that you're playing with fire," he said, then scowled. "Wait, former middle management?"
"I shot him after he tried to have the colony wiped out to cover ExoGeni's tracks," she said. "So yes, former is correct."
"Wait, what?!" Ashley leaned across the table, a grin plastered across her face. "I must have missed that part of the debriefing!"
"Probably because I didn't mention it," Shepard said. "The short version is that he was in contact with ExoGeni and was terrified that they were going to, ah... what was the phrase?"
"Repurpose the colony," Tali said while sucking on a food pouch with some kind of nutrient paste in it.
"Right. He thought the best plan was to lock everything down and control it, and that included the surviving members of the colony. We disagreed, he tried to shoot us, and things were resolved quickly from there."
That, and he's a perfect scapegoat for me to dangle in front of ExoGeni's leadership if they cooperate.
"And this is why I like working with a Spectre," Garrus said. "On the Citadel, we'd have to wait for approval from our boss' boss to even think about doing that. Out here? Bang. Problem solved."
"Garrus, you of all people should know that you can't really make a society work in that environment," Chakwas chided. "Not if you want it to last."
"Of course not," the turian said. "I don't want to turn the Citadel into Omega. I just mean that on a personal level, not needing to take care of that sort of thing is a huge relief."
"Well," Shepard deadpanned, "If you get nostalgic, you could always help me fill out the post-mission paperwork."
Garrus stared at her in growing horror until she smirked. "I'm kidding. The Council doesn't actually want that much paperwork. It would make it harder to disavow knowledge of our activities if we got caught doing something especially egregious." she rolled her eyes.
"Don't scare me like that, Commander, my heart won't take it," he said, placing a three-fingered hand over his chest for dramatic effect.
She let her smirk turn into a grin before going back to her meal.
The conversation drifted on without her, the topic varying from discussions of their mission earlier that day, to speculation on the nature of things to come, to stories from their respective pasts and a long list of good natured complaints about life aboard the Normandy. The Normandy's marines helped introduce the alien members of the crew to some of the traditions and colloquialisms of their line of work, while Garrus spent nearly five minutes listing all the most insulting terms he'd heard for each Citadel species while on the force.
It was... pleasant, for lack of a better word. People from wildly different origins exchanging ideas and experiences in a way that only helped support her opinion that, fundamentally, most of the races in the galaxy could get along – and would even enjoy doing so, if given the chance. It didn't mean there would never be conflicts of interest or fights, but the fact that they were all here, now, having a meal together meant that it was possible.
Although, Shepard noticed, Liara did not offer her own parts to the table. She watched, yes, and laughed politely at the right times, but the asari archaeologist said almost nothing unless directly asked to speak.
Actually, I think she's spending more time staring at me. Silly girl. I'm not going to sprout horns and run around speaking in tongues!
Shepard didn't like intensely emotional moments with people, as a general rule. Funerals were particularly bad, as remembering the exact right combination of sorrow, reflection, and solidarity to use was difficult. Social events like the dinner were far easier to manage. Instead of needing to pretend that she was failing to suppress emotions she didn't feel, she could simply keep her usual "stoic" expression and "let the mask slip" when making a joke to give the impression of a serious officer that was also in touch with the realities of the soldiers under her command.
Besides, she liked people. People were interesting. They were unpredictable, yes, but that was part of the fun. If she was tired, she preferred to be alone to avoid ruining her persona by accident, but when rested it was always refreshing to hear what another individual with a different life experience thought about a shared event.
She might not be able to experience what everyone else did, but if you threw enough ping pong balls at an object and took careful notes of where they bounced, you could get a pretty good idea of what it looked like.
The dinner wrapped up eventually. Trays and plates were cleared, detritus was disposed of, dishes were begrudgingly washed, and the spare equipment was at least tucked away somewhere out of sight, if not actually stored properly. The mess hall emptied, with the marine complement heading for their bunks or duty postings, and the members of her ground team retreating to the spaces they'd carved out for themselves.
All in all, a successful day, Shepard thought, wandering toward the medical bay.
"Good evening, Commander," Chakwas smiled at her when she walked in. "How're you feeling?"
"A bit worn out," she admitted. "Sort of to be expected, after a day like that. Can I snag a few of those electrolyte energy supplements for the road?"
Technically speaking, she still had a box in her room, but it was as good an excuse as any to stop by the medical bay.
"Of course," Chakwas said, reaching into one of the cabinets and hauling out a half-full cardboard box of foil pouches. "Here, just take the rest – you'll need them. I'll get another one out of storage."
Shepard took the container and glanced at the contents. "The joys of artificial grape. Is Liara still awake, or did she go to sleep already?"
Chakwas glanced at the door to the storage room that doubled as Liara's temporary home and shrugged. "I'm not sure. She headed back about twenty minutes ago, but I suppose she could still be up. Is something wrong?"
Damn. "Ah, no, I was hoping to talk to her. If she's gone to bed, it can wait until morning," she said, turning to leave.
She was nearly at the door when Chakwas called out again. "She was asking about you earlier, you know."
Shepard paused. "Oh?" she said, hand hovering over the door control.
Chakwas nodded. "A great many questions. Some of which," she added, "I was even able to answer."
Shepard let out a low chuckle. "She could just ask me."
"I think she's not comfortable with all of it yet," Chakwas said. "I will say that she's handling the news better than I expected her to... and better than I did, at first. Even so, these things take time."
"You know, that reminds me," Shepard said, letting her hand fall away from the panel. "When did you find out?"
"Eden prime," Chakwas answered promptly, and Shepard raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Anderson gave me what he called a 'more up-to-date medical file' when we brought you in after the beacon."
Shepard snorted. "I imagine that went over like a lead balloon."
"Osmium," Chakwas quipped, the smile fading from her face. "I won't lie to you, commander. I was profoundly disturbed by what – and who – I saw in that file."
"You seem to have made your peace with it," Shepard suggested.
"I have," Chakwas confirmed, meeting her gaze levelly. "You have a medical condition, commander, and I am your doctor. It is my duty to see to it that you are cared for to the best of my ability, and regardless of what you could do, I choose to judge you based off of what you actually do. So far, I have seen nothing more than a polite, considerate, and talented young woman conducting herself in accordance with the highest standards."
She spread her hands, palms upward. "And if that young woman is merely holding a mirror up to the traits that society puts on a pedestal, well... at the end of the day, people are still better off for the things you've done, no matter why you chose to do them."
"Now," she said, nodding primly, "I know it isn't late, but you've had a very taxing day and it is my duty both as a medical professional and as a concerned friend to tell you to go get some sleep."
The corner of Shepard's mouth twitched, and she tossed the doctor a lazy salute. "Aye aye, ma'am," she drawled, then tapped the door panel and stepped out into the hall.
Liara bit her lip and pulled her ear away from the door. She shouldn't be eavesdropping, she knew, but she was so far out of her depth she couldn't really help it! Besides, her mother had always encouraged her to find things out. This was really just a different way of doing that.
That it might help her avoid making a fool of herself was merely a side benefit.
She listened to the medical bay door hiss close with a swirling mixture of relief and disappointment. Relief, as she truly had been about to retire for the night, but she couldn't help but feel that being a little sleep deprived might be worth another evening with Shepard. She was an archaeologist, not an anthropologist, but there was some overlap of those fields by necessity and she'd thought up a whole laundry list of questions to ask her about her views on galactic culture and how people interacted. It was very rare to find somebody that was intimately familiar with a people, yet detached enough to clearly give information on it. She'd even considered sending a message to some of her colleagues in the anthropology department to see if they'd be interested in co-authoring a few papers when the business with Saren, her mother, and the geth was dealt with.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves, she thought with a sigh. She knew she was avoiding thinking about what Shepard had mentioned over dinner, but... could she really be blamed for that? She was hunting down her own insane mother for the purpose of potentially murdering her! Anyone – well, almost anyone – would have qualms about that.
She rubbed her eyes with her palms until stars flitted around her vision. She needed rest. Actual rest, not the usual waking distractions she had so often pursued when she wanted to avoid thinking about a particular topic.
She slid out of her jumpsuit, hanging the garment up on a rack she'd re-purposed into a temporary clothes hanger and carefully climbed onto her cot. It was, as usual, too small and a little unbalanced, but she'd started to get used to its quirks... which was a little unfortunate, as needing to focus on not falling over would have been something to keep her mind from spinning in an open loop on the events of the day.
Groaning, she stuffed her face into her pillow. She hoped she'd manage to get some sleep. She could feel the exhaustion gnawing at her, even as her brain dredged up memory after memory to tie her to wakefulness.
And that's not even counting what my subconscious has in store for me!
She almost laughed. It was bad enough that she would likely need to deal with nightmares; now she was worrying about the loss of sleep the nightmares would cause!
Goddess... just one night of rest... please?
In her own cabin, Shepard stretched in her bed, feeling the familiar twinges of minor bruises and pulled muscles from the day. She still wasn't used to the bed – even now, she still found herself waking curled up on the very edge of it against the wall – but she had to admit, it certainly was more pleasant to pass out in a bed after a hard mission than in the sleeper pods.
She double checked her alarm clock. She'd set it later than usual, figuring that some rest would do her some good, before flicking off the lights and closing her eyes.
All in all, a successful day, she thought contended as the warm embrace of sleep drifted over her.
A/N: Breaking here because I'm shifting gears a bit going forward, also, I want to get this one done and out the door before I leave for Burning Man. I know this is a lot shorter than you all deserve, and for that you have my apologies. Next chapter will probably be early September, unless I write like a lunatic before I leave for the desert.
Or if I write while I'm out there. I'll be bringing my tablet, because I'm a crazy addict like that, and I think I'll have at least intermittent Internet access.
If anyone is headed out there this year, drop me a PM!
