Concussive explosions jarred the ground and reverberated through Liara's boots. Bright gunfire flashed in every direction, and she couldn't make sense of her location. The disorientation was crippling.
Shepard had punished Liara for forcing her hand by banishing her and James to the rearguard. The lieutenant had maintained stoic silence; his firmly set jaw and the heavier-than-usual stomp of his boots were the only evidence he was less than pleased with their detail.
Liara had been furious. Her sole reason for demanding to accompany Shepard had been to fight by her side, to try to ensure the human's survival. Instead, the commander had conspired to leave Liara behind, ensuring that the asari could not attend her. She spent much of her time recklessly trying to close the distance between herself and Shepard's vanguards. If James had an opinion about Liara's blatant disregard for the commander's orders, he kept it to himself. Instead, he staunchly followed his own directive to stick with Liara.
After a short, brutal skirmish with a horde of husks, she and James had become separated. Sliding to the edge of the structure, Liara sought a better vantage point, trying to orient herself. Her current cover was less than ideal. The notion of remaining there long enough to regroup was out of the question. She glanced around before rapidly rising to her feet.
Pistol gripped tightly in her off-hand, Liara leapt over the transit bench she'd been hiding behind and sprinted toward the shelter of a disabled military truck. The ground heaved again. She stumbled. Her knuckles struck asphalt, but she shoved herself back up. She ran several feet further, before launching herself into a controlled slide. Tucking her right foot under her left knee, Liara landed on her backside. She rocked onto her hip, and tucked her head down as she skidded rapidly under the vehicle. She rolled swiftly onto her belly, both hands gripping the Predator tightly as she scanned her surroundings.
Sweat dripped down her neck. In her heightened state of awareness, Liara swore she could feel the individual beads snaking beneath her armour to be wicked away by her base layer.
Activating her comms unit, Liara switched to the private channel she and James had agreed on. She swallowed back the anticipation of pain and carefully spoke his name, her voice coming out in an uneven croak.
"What's your grid?" James demanded, his tone clipped. She checked her omni, painstakingly reading off the numbers. He sighed loudly. "Stay there, Blue. I mean it—" His scolding was cut off as an eerie shriek split the battle zone. Liara stiffened, the sweat on her neck instantly chilling.
She forgot to breathe.
Numb fingers disengaged the comm. Using her elbows to drag herself forward, Liara peeked out. She couldn't see the creature, but a pale glow of twisted biotics illuminated the broken asphalt near the tail of truck. When her lungs began to scream in protest, Liara sipped a single, careful breath.
Banshees were powerful and could be incredibly fast, but their cunning intelligence worried her most. She could no more hide than she could escape undetected. The decision made for her, Liara slithered out from underneath the truck. She crouched down and edged toward her mark.
The glow vanished. Liara barely had time to register its absence before the air around her forcibly moved. The banshee reappeared two feet behind her, its excruciating wail stabbing into Liara's skull. She whipped around, bringing her pistol up, but the banshee was already in motion. Its dagger-like fingers snapped viciously around her wrist, twisting her hand painfully before she could fire a shot. Her grip slackened, releasing the gun.
Liara's stomach flooded with bile as the banshee grabbed her helmeted head with its free hand. Unbearable pressure built as disgustingly long fingers began to crush her helmet. Liara felt her feet leave the ground and the creature dropped her wrist. She watched with sluggish, vague curiosity as it drew its arm back. Muddling through the pain, Liara acknowledged that the thing could easily thrust its hand through her hardsuit, directly into her chest. It could rip her heart out with very little effort.
Her feet swung as she idly kicked. Pain built to a crescendo as her helmet cracked, pieces of its hardened components breaking beneath the strain. Each crunch sounded louder than the last, until she couldn't take the pressure any longer. Tears streamed wildly down her face.
Blood began to seep from her nose. Agony and desperation forced the panic to fade. Everything snapped to crystal clarity. Grabbing the banshee's wrist with both hands, Liara swung forward and kicked hard, driving her feet into the creature's spindly legs. The thing staggered, but did not let go. Liara's didn't care. She dug the toes of her boots into its middle and shoved back as hard as she could, executing a backflip while simultaneously summoning her biotics. Her momentum finally broke the reaper's hold.
The maneuver had not been graceful and Liara landed awkwardly, but at least she had a modicum of distance. And, finally, her wits. Her head continued to throb, trapped as she was in her crushed helmet, but she ignored the ache and scrambled to her feet.
The creature screamed again as it glided slowly toward her, as though convinced its weak prey would inevitably succumb.
Overwhelming anger bubbled through Liara. Blind hatred manifested physically, turning her biotics a shimmering white. Teeth clenched, Liara strode forward. The banshee appeared unconcerned, its horrific features expressionless.
A prolonged shriek fractured the air as Liara loomed.
The creature lifted its hands again, but she avoided its grip. Everything slowed, each move and counter move executed at a leisurely pace. Liara eased under the banshee's guard, her fist raised above her shoulder. When she struck, she fed all of her biotics down her wrist, and through her extended fingers. Her hand knifed easily through the banshee's ribcage, through snarled tech, to come out the other side. Up to her shoulder in the reaper, Liara made a fist and curled a glowing ball of white-hot biotics around it. She yanked her hand back through the hole she had made, eviscerating the creature and covering herself in ropy gore.
The wail abruptly ended, and as Liara dropped to her knees, exhausted, she realized that it had belonged to her.
Sour bile rose up her abused throat and she struggled to remove her battered helmet in time to disgorge her stomach contents in a steaming puddle next to the twitching remains of the banshee. She dragged off her gloves, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
In the distance, another banshee screamed. Liara's blood ran cold. Sheer exhaustion forced her to admit that she could very well die amidst Earth's smoking rubble.
The thought nearly crippled her, but her desire to protect Shepard—the obsession that had driven Liara's existence for years—helped her to her feet. Crushing guilt, however, forced her back into cover.
She staggered behind a crumbling brick wall and slid down onto her bottom. She breathed shallowly as she fired up her omni-tool, using one of the backdoors she'd discovered to access the Normandy's private communications network.
She carefully typed: Samantha? Are you there? I need to speak with you.
Fatigue rolled over Liara in waves as the sounds of battle faded to a distant hum in the background. Numb and unthinking, she awaited Samantha's reply, too stunned to know what she would do if the specialist didn't acknowledge her.
Just as she was losing hope, Liara's omni pinged. She dragged her leaden arm up to read it.
Channel 6.
She switched her comm unit to the designated channel, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against the ruined brick. A gravelly voice Liara barely recognized as her own rasped from her dry throat. "Samantha?"
"Liara, what the hell are you doing?"
"I… I wanted to apologize."
"Now? For God's sake! I'm a bit busy here."
Liara's face heated. She hadn't been thinking. Of course Samantha was busy. "I—never mind."
She heard Sam sigh and when the specialist spoke again, her voice was hushed and full of emotion.
"No, I'm sorry. It's so good to hear your voice."
Liara took a deep breath. Her throat ached and she loathed the thought of speaking again, but she swallowed down the razors. "I should not have left you like I did. I—You were so good to me… the way you make me feel—I am a coward, Samantha. I did not know how to say..." Goodbye? "…the things I should have said, so I… I left. I am sorry."
Silence stretched until Liara almost believed Samantha had abandoned the channel. Then she heard the specialist exhale. "Thank you," Sam said in a rush. "I couldn't hold it against you if I wanted to, Liara. You're down there… risking your life for people like me. You're… I wanted to give you something special before you went… in case… in case…" After a lengthy pause, Sam continued in a lighthearted tone, "Well, I guess I could have given you my favorite chess piece."
Liara laughed. It hurt to laugh, yet it somehow eased a great deal of pain. "I think a chess piece would pale in comparison."
"You ain't seen nothing yet, honey," Sam teased. A sharp warning tone sounded in the background and Samantha swore. "I have to go. For the love of everything good, please stay safe."
"You too." Just like that, stark reality fell around Liara once more.
Liara sat still, listening to the dead hiss of the communication channel until heavy footsteps striking the dirt near her position prompted her to move. She was standing when James rounded the corner, his assault rifle angled across his chest.
"There you are. You ready to beat feet?"
· x ·
Author's Note: Thanks to WK and ML for the assistance. So... I estimate there to be about, oh, two chapters left. [I think] it's kind of neat: this whole thing, when complete, will likely come in under 100,000 words. Cool, huh? Thanks for reading! :D
