Interlude – Unspoken Vows

I promised her. Strictly, it was an unspoken covenant on my part with Admiral Hackett, with whom I started working some months ago, and whom was unaware of the access I had into Alliance Military systems. I took it on myself to isolate that source from my information-gathering networks as a show of good faith that the Admiral neither knew he wanted, nor now had.

However, I later told Shepard of this unilateral arrangement and it became another promise to her. She didn't need to know. She caught me exhausted, in the midst of trying to save refugee ships that I knew from other sources had likely been obliterated by Reaper cannon before breaking atmos. I refused to accept it. Made it more difficult as each of my tender-class ships came back empty.

I'm aware that I'm a little more porous when I'm raw, and the matter of my cutting off the Broker's Alliance access just slipped out. This disclosure likely didn't make her think any better of me – our later argument would demonstrate her deep distrust of both my resources and my intentions. However, I'm quite certain that on that night, as I caught her in an obvious lie, that she barely thought on it at all.

I try not to hold onto how I felt that night, of all the nights before or since, but the memory is so vivid that it is difficult not to find myself back there. If it was possible for one's organs to fall to the floor, I'm certain mine would have.

I never had to feel like this in the decades I spent alone in the ruins.

Catching her on deck – that was not intentional on my part. I have no backdoor into the ships feeds, as promised. It was sheer misfortune.

Shepard - this woman that I have loved, that I have held: clutching a hideous asari coat around her shoulders, attempting to conceal the date dress that I knew to be beneath, just as she was when she left the Normandy hours before; attempting to conceal the scent of fluids on her skin and the flush of passion on her cheeks with willpower and the misdirection magic of small talk alone.

I knew where she was. Who she was with. What she was doing.

I knew that this was us truly over, for her.

I also knew it wasn't the first time, which means it wasn't a mistake.

It is a professional flaw of mine as an (the) information broker that I regret to say that I don't know when and how it began. The obvious answer is Omega. While she wasn't quite right when she came back, I don't think Aria truly had the Commander in her clutches then. After then, there are a number of spike points in the data: the dock inspection that never was, for one. Aria's boast of the implant malfunction is another; and I remember the night she went out with Vega a few days before the operation on Cyone when the malfunction surfaced. I heard the rumours of Purgatory and I could get access to the vid-feed to confirm, but I can't think of anything I want to see less.

I should stop investigating, even in my own mind, because I know it is driving me mad. It doesn't matter, really doesn't matter. Not months down the line when it's long over, I've been gone, and Aria's moved into, first: my cabin on the Normandy, and second: the Commander's quarters. It's far past a fling of war. That assessment would be an optimistic.

How I rode this train of thought from the Shadow Broker's promise to Hackett to here, I don't know. Regardless, the point is that while I have no means of infiltration into the Normandy's systems or feeds, I do have access to the dock feeds at the Citadel, which I think is perfectly fair. Presently, the Citadel dock feeds show the Normandy's port side exterior. The solid lights around the door tell me the airlock release is initialising.

The light flashes steadily and the airlock doors part. Aria T'Loak strides out from within, a duffel bag in one hand. She's moving just a little faster than I can switch cameras, but I catch up with her just in time to see her hand the bag off to Bray, who is waiting just inside the docking bay access doors to the Citadel. As he turns to follow her, the doors slide shut and my view is obscured.

Another feed, this one in the passenger lounge of Bay D24. Aria barely pauses. Bray works hard to keep up. The next vid-link at Security: She breezes through the checkpoint barely breaking step, with hardly a glance from the officers. How she does that and how deep she has Tevos in her pocket, I'm not clear on yet. Bray catches up to her to direct her to their waiting skycar on the bridge. They both get inside, the roof mechanism encloses them in the vehicle, and they accelerate rapidly at an acute vertical angle.

I could follow her down the rabbit hole – chase her from camera to camera along the skycar flyways, but I don't know if I want to see where that goes.

That is a lie. I do. Of course, I do.

I switch instead to the docking bay view of the Normandy to see if she's being followed. Lieutenant Cortez emerges to meet the salarian port master, who is waiting, datapad in hand, ready to go through the standard checking procedure. I see the Lieutenant ready to play the SPECTRE card, as he tilts his own datapad to show the clearance ident.

It doesn't look like Shepard came out. Not that she would for a dock check.

I could be reading it all wrong, certainly, but I have my suspicions that they could be parting on acrimonious terms. My suspicions are not founded upon hard data – again, endeavouring to uphold my word – but the gossip amongst my crew mates. It has been no secret that Aria wanted off this ship weeks ago.

Considering what I know of the history, I doubt that any disagreement had prior to arrival at the Citadel would be fatal. Likely resolved as par for the course. I imagine Shepard will go out tonight for a "walk".

Stop it, Liara.

I want so badly to listen to that voice, but it takes a fortification of willpower – and terabytes worth of a distraction. Even while tracking the movements outside of the ship, I'm working on the other console to co-ordinate what relief efforts I can. Many of my sources have found themselves promoted to field operatives – but instead of the traditional Broker assignments of wet work and undercover corporate espionage, they've become aid workers, evac shuttle pilots, and safehouse guardians. I do wonder if they still think that I am the same Broker the Yahg was; perhaps his priorities would have changed in wartime. I do doubt the extent of his possible benevolence as his move when faced with the Reaper threat was to negotiate with the Collectors for the preservation of his own life in exchange for that of Shepard's.

I would like to speak to my father. I know she's been desperate for me to get back to the Citadel since the fall of Thessia. I imagine that she would take up her post as spymaster once more, tailing my every move – wholly for her own benefit this time, rather than the Matriarchs. I haven't told Aethyta my intent to stay with the Normandy, for as long as she may need me. By she, I mean both the ship and Shepard.

That decision is probably best imparted over comms where Aethyta can shout, but I have a mute button. However, if we are staying on the Citadel for a night or two before we move on, I must make the point of seeing my father.

"Glyph – Call my father – Matriarch Aethyta, please," I direct the VI, head bowed.

"Right away, Dr T'Soni."

I drag forward my chair and ease down onto it, directly in front of the screen. I feel that I may need a seat for this.

"Liara – You're alive," Aethyta booms out, her face looking decidedly unworried stretched across the screens in front of me. "Thanks for fuckin' tell me so."

"I sent you a message after Thessia," I mumble, sinking down. I must try to look and sound less like a scolded child. To that end, I straighten my back, give her direct eye contact, and clear my throat. "I am fine. No need to overreact."

"You're floating out there in the middle of a war zone, and not hearing from you in days makes me think the worst. They can barely count the bodies, never mind identify them."

Overdramatic as usual.

"I'm in dock at the Citadel, as a matter of fact."

"Which one? I'll come get you," she says, forcing herself to sit still enough to listen for the answer; barely restraining herself from getting her coat and being half-way out of the door.

"D24, but—"

"D24's the Alliance dock," she says, leaning stiffly backwards, her chin jutting forward. She is already disapproving of the situation.

"I am on an Alliance ship," I respond simply.

"Are you on the fucking Normandy, Liara?" Aethyta asks incredulously, getting to her feet to fidget and pace. "Stupid, stupid kid."

"I should have just stayed on Thessia while it was crumbling and caught a ride with the next ship intact that came along, should I?" I challenge hotly.

"You could have done better than getting on the Normandy again!" she says impulsively.

"No. I couldn't," I say, hoping that my resolute tone conveys that it is the final word I will have on the matter.

She throws her hands up in disgust, sits down again, and slaps her palms on her thighs.

"There any trouble?" she asks, trying to control her volume. If she doesn't, I'll need to lower it on my end.

"Nothing I can't handle."

She squints at me. "I heard T'Loak's on-board."

"Nothing I can't handle," I repeat.

While I think that my father (with all of her experience and much vaunted krogan blood) could have some useful insight into my behaviour on Thessia, I haven't reconciled my own thoughts on the matter. On one side, I know that I was deliberately provoked; on the other, I know that it does not excuse my actions. I also must accept that there is a not insignificant part of me that seized on the provocation for the satisfaction of my own revenge.

I also do not want to discuss that provocation with my father – namely the insults and allegations hurled at both parents – because I do not think Aria was lying as regards her dalliance with Aethyta.

"Right," she says, begrudgingly accepting that. "So how was everything else? I know Thessia's done, I've seen the vids, but did you get what you were down there for?"

In a way. Not really. More than I asked for, I suppose.

"Benezia… my mother. Lied to me."

"About what?"

"Our history. The Protheans. Athame. The Temple. The beacon. "

Aethyta knows what I am talking about. She sighs and nods.

"They all lied. The great Matriarchal conspiracy of the ages," Aethyta agrees. "But that was high code level clearance shit. She couldn't just tell anybody. Not even her daughter. One thing that Nezzy was above all else was a stateswoman, and serious about it."

I wonder how high 'mother' ranks on that list.

"To watch me enter academia, so focused on the Protheans… devoting decades of my maidenhood to the pursuit of the answers that were with us the entire time… To put it generously, she must have found it an amusing waste of time," I say, that bitter taste of betrayal and disappointment on my tongue again.

"I doubt it, Liara. Your mother was your biggest fan. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if she thought you'd bring it all crashing down. She knew how clever you are, like her; and that rebellious streak you got from me – perfect recipe to blow it wide open."

I like Aethyta's version, but I don't know if the truth of it sits right with me. I could choose to prefer that version; I'd certainly feel more at peace with it and the memory of my mother I've struggled to retain.

"I know there's more you're not telling me, kid," Aethyta says, her voice trying to comfort me. "And I don't even wanna get into the Shepard situation over vid-call. You're in dock, when you want me to come bring you home?"

In another universe, in a different galaxy where Aethyta had not left my mother and Benezia had not left her in turn, I imagine that my father would have met me from lessons and walked me home every day. My mother rarely did. She worked. She had a minder to pick up her daughter. I don't blame her for it, but I do envisage that I would have had a great stay-at-home dad had they not separated.

"I'm not coming back to yours."

"You hopping transport back to wherever you were before Thessia? I kinda hoped you wouldn't be putting yourself out there after this."

"It's everywhere. It's a galaxy extinction level event," I say irascibly.

"I know, but it's good to be with family. And I know how much you can do behind a screen."

I brace for impact. "I can't just watch behind a screen anymore. Actually, I'm staying on the Normandy, for the foreseeable future."

She looks like she could scream; like she could put a fist in her mouth, bite down hard and shriek obscenities into the wound. The blue of her skin darkens to a midnight navy colour. She can barely sit still in her seat.

Sometimes I look at my father and wonder how she is nearly a thousand years old.

"Liara, what is it you think you've done in your life that makes you such a glutton for punishment – That makes you think you deserve to be on that ship, in that situation, with those people—"

I cut her off before something bursts.

"It's my decision. The Normandy is where I need to be. It's where I can be needed. This is where we win the war, Aethyta." I take a hard line to back her down. "I've never stopped believing in Shepard, and I need to show that now."

"You need to show—?! Liara, you don't have—"

I cut her off again. "The decision is made. I am sure you know me well enough that you can't shout me down from this."

I can see all that rage and worry internalise within her as she tries to approach from another angle.

"Can we at least talk about it face to face? You're a sky-cab ride away. I'll take you for decent food. That human military crap has you looking pastier that a Quarian without the suit."

"I don't know if I have time," I confess, checking the ship-wide comms-to-text log in case there have been any crew announcements about departure or otherwise since I've been on-call to Aethyta. Nothing from the bridge. Not even a limited shore release window. "We may be leaving soon. Or we could be ashore for a time. I really don't know."

"Shepard should get her finger out her ass and either point at a star, or press the goddess-damned airlock button," Aethyta says. I would say that the message was conveyed under her breath, but I heard every word in crisp detail.

"Joker may know the position – the Normandy's pilot. I'll check in with him, and call back you to make arrangements to meet, if we can," I decide.

"Alternatively, you could just get off right now and to Hell with the Normandy," Aethyta shrugs irritably.

"I think we both know that is unlikely," I say with a consolatory smile, my hand hovering over the disconnect symbol. "I will call you back."

"Better speak to you soon, Liara," Aethyta says, trying not to grumble. "I love you, you know."

"I love you too," I return, swiping the call away. I barely let myself take a breath from the call before the next. I tap the audio-only intercom function on my omni-tool. "Liara to bridge."

"Liara! What can I do you for? Massimo burger and shake? Drive to the next window and I'll get that right to ya," Joker says, his voice booming through the speakers overhead.

"Joker, has there been indication how long we'll be in dock for?"

"Negatory, Liara," he says, barely supressing a sigh. "In the dark here."

"Figuratively speaking," EDI adds her voice to the channel. "There are no current system or lighting malfunctions on the bridge."

"Yeah, she got that," Joker groans. "Liara, you're about the hundredth person to ask me that today, which is amazing, cause there's only like fifty people on board."

"Jeff, the Normandy has—"

"EDI if you're about to break down the crew roster for me then you're sleeping on the couch tonight," Jeff says wearily. From the muffle in his voice I can imagine him holding his face in his hands.

EDI doesn't carve out time to respond to Jeff's threat. "Hello, Shepard."

"Commander—"

It's doesn't take a Shadow Broker to surmise that Shepard has come onto the bridge.

"Joker – all crew aboard?"

I can still hear them through the comms. It appears that Joker has left the channel open. That's accidental. That can't qualify as spying.

She sounds terse.

"Aye, aye Commander."

"Ship aweigh."

"Aye, aye." There is a hesitant pause. "Commander?"

"Yeah?" Her voice sounds farther away; she was mid-exit, I imagine.

"Where are we going to? I got no new destination. I mean, I can get us outta dock and queue up at the relay, but some asshole's gonna dink us for holding everybody up and—"

"I believe what Jeff is trying to ascertain is what is our next move is in order to plot the optimal—" EDI starts before Joker cuts her off.

"Sort of something like that, Commander, but I'm not trying to undermine your authority or whatever – just thought I was out of the loop or something," Joker utters at speed. He appears to be managing a modicum of tact, which indicates to me that Shepard's demeanour shows her not to be messed with at this juncture.

Joker's right, though. Floating off into space has never been Shepard's modus operandi, she's always had a plan. She must want to get moving, even if it is to nowhere.

"It's not just you out of the loop, Joker," Shepard says steadily. "I don't have anything else for us. It's Cerberus or bust at this point. Is it too much to hope for that Cerberus has been so kind as to mark out their super-secret location with a big red arrow floating out in the black?"

"It is unlikely," EDI admits.

"Figures."

"I'd rather bust Cerberus," Joker says. "In their face. In their meta-human robot faces. No offence, EDI."

"Joker – call everyone together in the war room. Tell them to gather their best intel, leads, hunches – generally anything written on the back of bathroom doors in Purgatory or wacky conspiracy theories on the extranet, because we are going after Cerberus."

She sounds more focused now. Her last word is definitive, and I am guessing that following which she left the bridge for EDI and Joker to give effect to her orders.

"All right EDI, ping the crew, aaaand, oh shit, comms were hot – Liara, you still there?"

"I thought you'd forgotten about me," I say lightly.

"Did you hear that? I'm assuming you heard that. Shepard wants everyone in the war room ASAP. Hope you've got something about Cerberus tucked away for a rainy day, cause the Commander wants it all hanging out."

"Thanks, Joker," I say, disconnecting the call before EDI checks him on semantics and the conversation cycles back around. It can be adorable, but I have archives to plunder.

"What's scuttlebutt? We moving out? Hanging around? What?" James says, announcing his presence to the others gathered in the war room. I follow close behind him, and it's a testament to his muscular figure that I can only determine who is here from the sound of their voice.

"If we knew we wouldn't in here," Ashley says, her eyes darting to me when I emerge from James's shadow.

It is there every time. That look she gives me. How she changes.

I know that Lieutenant Commander Williams associates me with Kaiden Alenko's death. Her demeanour shifts every time she notes my presence. I know she and Kaiden grew close, and it appears from comm logs from the Shadow Broker archives that it was due to somewhat of a siege mentality on Ashley's part. All of these aliens on Shepard's squad (apparently completely discounting the rest of the ship's crew being human military), the Normandy and what it meant to serve the Alliance transformed… and she sought refuge with her kind.

I know she knows about the confrontation, for want of a better term, between Kaiden, Shepard and myself in the comms room. I didn't need to view the log of Kaiden reciting the entire conversation to Ashley – I remember it well enough myself.

I even remember what went unsaid. I remember thinking of the most gracious and well-meaning words to say to make this situation easier for Shepard and put Kaiden at ease. In light of Kaiden's conviction that it was, in fact, he and Shepard who shared a romantic connection, I had assumed that what had been going on between Shepard and myself was an after-effect from the joining to decipher the prothean beacon; or perhaps it was her fascination was with the Asari species that had her return to my door in the back of the med-bay, and not an attraction to me personally. Everything that had gone before could have been explained away – I was so green, so to speak, I really couldn't positively identify flirtation if I had it under a microscope. I kept any hope that I harboured in strict check with a healthy dose of realism; then quashed it further with an unhealthy prescription of self-doubt, inexperience and romantic ineptitude.

But she picked me. It was Kaiden who had been mistaken. He had taken kind words for romantic interest where there was none. Shepard was really quite absolute in that point.

You oft hear it said that there is no more dangerous animal than a humiliated man. Kaiden certainly seemed more than bruised as he left that night. He barely looked at me afterwards. This was not how it was supposed to be in his mind.

I heard exactly what he thought of me later, on file .

I resisted the SR-1 files for as long as I was able. When I came across the directory I did my utmost to restrain myself, and I did. For a few months at least.

It's a strange thing. You mustn't speak ill of the dead, I hear the earth idiom goes, but what when they speak ill of you?

Commendably, he appeared to behave professionally the morning after that night in the comms room. Privately, he was convinced that my "Asari wiles" had entranced Shepard and enticed her away from his grasp. He was convinced that it surely couldn't have been one-sided between them, but now he was made to feel like the fool. Ashley supported him by reinforcing everything he believed. He didn't speak about it at length after that one occasion, but privately, references were made between the two of them. I recall the unease I felt when back on the SR-1 when I was with either of the two of them. I eschewed most social contact admittedly, but whenever I was with them, I couldn't shake the feeling that their indifference masked something worse. If you weren't very popular growing up, as I wasn't, then it's a feeling well known from my formative years.

Then Virmire happened. Shepard had to make a choice, and she chose Ashley.

I imagine that in Ashley's mind that if Shepard and Kaiden had been involved then Shepard would have surely chosen him. The reason that they weren't was the interloper - the daughter of an alien terrorist that should have never been on the Normandy in the first place. Blaming me helps her alleviate her own survivor's guilt. She confessed as much in an email to her sister once.

Neither of us are to blame. Shepard made an impossible choice forced upon her by circumstance.

And every time – no matter how many years have passed, and how many times we've covered each other in the field – when Ashley looks at me like she is now, all of this comes flooding unmercifully back and I feel like the pureblood alien freak, being carefully tormented by my betters.

I pull my focus onto the rest of the room. The rest of the team crowds around the central console, all present and waiting patiently. It appears that James and I were the last to arrive – bar Shepard, who still is not with us.

Samantha gives a small smile. I wonder if that's residual guilt from having sexual relations with my ex not long after our end, and while I was just decks below on the Normandy, or if it's just her congenial nature.

The latter I imagine. In truth she should harbour no guilt. Who could blame someone for pursuing Shepard?

The woman herself arrives.

She doesn't look heartbroken, or maligned, or distracted by whatever came to pass against Aria.

She is furious.

Everyone else can sense it too as they stand up straighter – the rage is seeping through her pores.

"We need our next move. We've lost the Prothean data. We've lost our lead on the Catalyst. They have it. I'm sick of Cerberus beating us to the punch," she snarls, slapping her open palms firmly down on the war console dashboard.

"Let's kick them in the balls first for a change," James supports Shepard, breaking the stillness of this uncharacteristically silent team.

"I'm with James," Shepard says, pulling her hands together in a brisk clap to bring everyone's focus to her and the problem at hand. "Anyone know where they're hiding? Anyone?"

"Um," Traynor eases in, looking nervously around the group. She doesn't think that whatever she has to say is worth it. She doesn't believe she should be standing here with the rest of us. Shepard looks hopefully at her. Shepard believes in her. That should be enough to give her voice. "Well. There is something."

"Let's hear it, Traynor," Shepard welcomes enthusiastically, waving her hands more than need be.

Samantha manipulates the galaxy holo chart in the middle of us all, a path highlighted across the breadth of it.

"I was able to track Kai Leng's shuttle through the relay and extrapolate his destination," she gestures to the route mapped out. "But the signal disappeared in the Iera system."

"Naturally," Shepard nods with a grimace. I can tell she's trying to shield her aggravation from view, but as so often with Shepard trying to hide her emotions, she fails.

"It's not just gone, though, the signal is being actively blocked," Traynor says curiously, still tracing the lines.

"How?" Shepard says, pushing Traynor further. The way Shepard is looking at her now – with such faith and affection – I can't help but wonder if it is purely on a professional level. While all accounts confirm that they ended some time ago, feelings can linger.

"I'm not sure, but something is interfering with all signal activity in that region of space," Traynor says, her forehead creased as she stares at the holo map.

"Commander. The Iera system is home to Sanctuary and little else. Sanctuary is a supposed safe haven for war refugees," EDI says, supplying the necessary background data.

Shepard is eager for more. "You think it's worth checking out Traynor?"

"Yes ma'am, I do," she nods, letting herself declare her hunch with authority.

"If Specialist Traynor hadn't examined the data so astutely the interference would have been undetectable," EDI opines.

Like any good information broker, I can identify the unobvious source of rumour and gossip in most places – and on the Normandy that source happens to be Tali'Zorah. She told me of Traynor's crush on EDI and I am sure that I did not imagine a swoon when EDI complimented her professionalism and dedication. Such tangled webs we weave.

"Nice work Traynor," Shepard beams, directing at her a grateful nod. "You've given us a shot. Let's make sure we don't waste it."

"I was stationed on Horizon in Iera system. You were the only Cerberus presence while I was there," Ashley says dispassionately. With these words, I don't know if Ashley intends to wound Shepard with the reminder of her past alliances, or if she is trying to ground the sudden surge of optimism in the group.

Shepard takes it as well as she can. Her jaw forms a hard line and her lips purse together. She's trying not to retaliate in kind.

I set my mind to the task in hand, casting an eye over the proposed co-ordinates and comparing Traynor's data with my own.

"It's a slim lead. Let's hope it's the right one," I say cautiously, giving a definitive nod at the end of my calculations. All data would indicate that Traynor may be correct.

When my eyes meet Shepard's, I note she's regarding my caution somewhat suspiciously. She knows I've never been the blind cheerleader, nor one to tell her what she wants to hear. I've always been the one to query the data and to make the plan; or propose the alternative or wild theory that no one wants to hear. I hope she remembers that of me, and that I would not reserve my enthusiasm because of personal difficulties.

"I don't care how slim the leads are at this point. We've come too far to let Cerberus stop us. I want that Prothean data. I want the Catalyst," Shepard says definitively, casting a glance around at each and every member of the team. The look says We are damn well doing this. "No excuses. Dismissed."

I watch as the crew files out: their collective gaits a little stronger, their heads a little higher. We have something to drive towards. Shepard has pulled us up from pit and pushed us to keep going. They are all with her.

Her back is to me as she connects to the bridge intercom via her omni-tool.

"Joker – plot a course for Iera System, Shadow Sea cluster, Horizon," Shepard announces, her chin raised.

"You got it, Commander," comes his enthused response over intercom. "On our way."

I am not sure if she can see me, or if she's aware that I'm here. She used to say that she was always aware of where I was around her – be it in battle or on deck.

As her head tilts to the side, I am still not in her eyeline, but she knows I am here now.

I have to speak. I have to tell her.

It is obvious that I am waiting to speak to her, as I am engaged in nothing else. If I wanted to buy myself more time I could have brought up my omni-tool or occupied myself on a nearby console. It is too late for masking my intentions now without being completely transparent.

"Shepard, there's a matter I want to discuss."

She turns to face me now, sliding her omni-tool screen down from view to give me her focus.

"Is it Cerberus?"

I almost would that it was.

"No, nothing to do with this. It's not urgent," I say quietly, looking at the crew staffed at post around the war room and reconsidering the forum for such a confession. "But it is best discussed in private."

"Sure," she nods. Shepard has many indicators to betray her feelings, but none are presenting. "How about you come up to my cabin whenever suits?"

I know that I have a considerable amount of work to do, bearing in mind that I allowed a not-insignificant portion of my time to be swallowed by looking at Aria T'Loak on vid-link. I check my omni-tool to confirm my commitments. "I have a call scheduled shortly. A few hours?"

Shepard smiles tightly. She does not seem comfortable with the notion. "Sure."

I must tell her. Tonight.

I vowed - no more spying, no more secrets. This was a separate promise I silently made to Shepard, and one I intend to keep.