A/N: The following chapter contains above average levels of angst – even for me. Also, a warning for sexual assault that isn't graphic, but please proceed with caution.

Chapter Five
I Want Love, or Death

Location Withheld

When Shepard awoke again, she felt a brief surge of hope that the hell she had endured in her nightmares was nothing more than that – just nightmares. The white room was gone, replaced by the sort of neutral decor favoured by the soulless individuals that strived to design military spaces with nothing but function and economy in mind. If she blinked a few more times the door would slide open, Liara would walk in and the rest of their lives would finally be able to start.

She was proven wrong as soon as she tried to sit up. Both her wrists and ankles were restrained with thick bands. The extent of her range of movement was lifting her head and shoulders from the pillow. She scanned the room, seeing little other than what was very obviously a large two-way mirror taking up much of one wall. The door was closed and a woman stood beside the bed with an irritatingly gentle smile on her face. It was the blonde doctor. Shepard couldn't remember her name and she didn't care. Her sole concern was finding a way out of her predicament.

Her attention shifted from the blonde doctor to the two-way mirror. Instinctively she knew that those responsible for her unjustified incarceration would be watching, observing her in some sort of warped experiment.

Just the simple act of holding her head up was exhausting and Shepard flopped back down against the pillows with a huff of helpless rage. To combat the swirling anger, she closed her eyes. She remembered her poorly thought through escape attempt that had been foiled by her own mother. Her jaw clenched at the memory – a tight, potentially teeth-shattering clench of betrayal. She wanted to see Hannah Shepard again only so she could draw some satisfaction from screaming at her until her throat bled.

Her jaw eventually relaxed. Shepard discovered that it was difficult to maintain any sort of physical anger when simple things like breathing and thinking were already taxing enough. When she scraped her tongue against the roof of her mouth, it felt like sandpaper. Her tongue snaked out to lick her lips - they were dry, cracked and peeling.

"Would you like a drink?" The blonde's voice was far too cheerful and eager to suit her role as jailor.

"Yes," Shepard replied in a tight voice, not bothering with her manners.

Remembering to say 'please' and 'thank you' wasn't a priority. Her hope was that the woman would free at least one of her hands. That would at least give her a chance to smash the cup against the side of her head, anything to give herself another chance at escape. Plan A was dashed when the doctor returned with a cup of water with a plastic straw jutting out the top. Shepard momentarily debated refusing the drink but her thirst won out. Her humiliation was complete when the blonde had to hold the straw steady for her. She waged an internal debate as to the most effective means to rebel, but everything seemed petty or futile – spitting the water in the doctor's face, refusing to drink or giving into her urge to rage vocally at what they were doing to her. Shepard settled for draining the cup dry. She maintained eye contact with the woman as she set the cup down, observing the subtle play of emotions across her face.

I'm the one that's strapped to a damn bed wearing nothing but a paper gown and she looks...disappointed, Shepard thought as her jaw started to clench again. How can the sick bitch smile while she's doing this to me?

Fatigue gradually dampened her anger until she could no longer even summon an iota of hate towards the blonde doctor. Her churning emotions were trapped within a prison created by her own physical limitations. Shepard felt drained and empty.

A husk, she thought bitterly. I feel like a husk.

Tears were the sole outlet available to her pathetically weak body, and she had absolutely no strength to fight them. Unchecked, they carved warm paths down her cheeks as the doctor looked on. Shepard's only escape was to turn her head away.

"Hey…surely it's not quite as bad as all that." The blonde was still damnably cheerful. "You're looking awfully glum for someone who saved the entire galaxy. You should know that people call you The Shepard. You're a hero."

"I believe the term you're looking for-" Shepard began in a bitter voice "-is martyr."

"But you're still alive-"

"I was supposed to die." Shepard turned to face the blonde with an expression devoid of all emotion. "And I think your friend, the one with the moustache, made it very clear that I succeeded in that aim."

The blonde leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Heller's an ass. Since when have you ever listened to the opinions of men like him? "

As the blonde spoke, Shepard finally remembered her name. Dr Naomi Stone. She saw past the carefully coifed hair and Alliance uniform to see a woman only a few years younger than herself. Her girl-next-door good looks and enthusiasm seemed entirely out of place in this hell. Dr Stone looked as though she belonged in another world, another time.

"Tell me, Dr Stone, what part of this whole fucked up situation feels like being alive to you?" Shepard demanded in a cold voice. She felt a sense of satisfaction when Stone's blithe expression slipped and she was driven to take a step backwards. "Go ahead, tell me I should be grateful just for being alive. Tell me that it shouldn't matter that I'm strapped to a bed like a criminal, that I don't know where the hell I am or why I'm being kept here. It's also fine that my own mother is a part of this whole farce. I'm alive so at least I can drink out of a straw and piss into a plastic bag!"

"Evan-"

"Don't you dare call me that!" Shepard hissed. She managed to lift her head and shoulders off the pillow as she spoke. "Not you or my mother or any one of the sick fucks in this place. Liara T'Soni thinks I am still dead because of you people. I don't care what you do to me, but the fact that you would make her suffer is cruel beyond words. I'm not going to beg…just prove to me you're not a heartless bitch and let me get in touch with my bondmate."

"I want to help you, honestly I do, but you know I can't do that," Stone explained tentatively. She kept her distance as though she feared Shepard would start raging at her again. "I'm just the doctor in charge of your day-to-day care. This goes well beyond-"

"Dammit, tell me who…how far up does this go?" Shepard demanded harshly. Her throat almost did feel like it was bleeding. She paused and drew in a breath to curb her anger. "Why are Alliance personnel doing this to me?"

Stone shook her head. "I-I can't answer that."

Shepard turned her head away. "Then get the fuck out of here."

Faced with such unrestrained hate, Stone fled immediately. Shepard listened – firstly to the sound of the doctor's hurried footsteps tapping against the floor and then to the decisive sound of a heavy door sliding shut. In the silence that followed, she heard her quiet exhale rattle as it left her throat.

Several minutes passed during which Stone did not return and Shepard could only lie on her back staring up at the ceiling. A few times her gaze wandered to the two-way mirror, but it was in the wrong position for her to be able to catch a glimpse of herself and the thought of being watched like some sort of experiment or freak show left her feeling sick to her stomach. Eventually there was nothing to do other than close her eyes.

Silence was impossible to find in the swirling chaos. Her memories and emotions were like a group of people all clamouring to be heard over one another. The underlying current was the wretched sense of unfairness that she had survived the Crucible only to end up in hell anyway.

"Liara."

The whisper was barely audible but Shepard needed to say her name out loud. A part of her hoped that she would feel some sense of connection to her bondmate, regardless whatever distance separated them. There was nothing other than a dull ache of pain which she was certain was entirely her own. The meagre sob that burst from her lips confirmed as much. She choked it back before more could follow, feeling disgusted with herself that she would let the situation overwhelm her so easily.

Stone was right. You're still alive aren't you? Shepard demanded of herself. If you're alive, then you can find a way out of this situation.

Shepard's train of thought was interrupted by the door. Her eyes remained closed and her facial muscles slack as she listened to the sound of footsteps. They were too heavy to be Dr Stone. Eventually someone stopped at her bedside. Even though she could not see whoever it was, she felt the force of their gaze as they watched her. There was the discreet sound of clothing rustling and a second later Shepard's eyes opened the moment she felt the unmistakable chill of a gun barrel being pressed against her temple. She found Dr Heller staring down at her with an intense expression on his thin face. She did not react further. A sadistic part of her actually preferred Heller's pistol to the head over Stone's optimistic demeanour.

"Just giving you a little taste of your own behaviour," he said as he twisted the barrel against her skin.

"You expect a marine to react to having a pistol pointed at her head? This isn't even the worst way I've ever woken up," Shepard said. She managed a smile and thoroughly enjoying the resulting sneer that played across Heller's lips.

"No, I don't expect that it is," he said quietly. "But it does serve to remind you that every breath you take is solely at the discretion of others. If it were up to me, I'd slit you open in a heartbeat. I'm not interested in you, so much as what's inside you. Studying all that tech contained within your carcass would be infinitely easier if you were less alive."

Shepard had little energy to be impressed by his threats. "Do you expect me to be grateful that you're not in charge?"

Without any form of warning, Heller lunged forward and pressed his forearm against Shepard's throat. With her arms restrained, her sole means of defence was to glare defiantly as her airway was severely constricted. He grinned as he listened to her gasping attempts to breathe.

"Does it hurt to be so valiant, or did someone programme you to be a self-righteous puppet?" Heller pressed forward, completely restricting her ability to breathe. "Or are you really just a scared little girl? I saw the way you crumpled and fell into Mummy's arms."

As Heller's weight disappeared from her throat, Shepard could do nothing other than give him the satisfaction of hearing her draw in deep, gasping breaths. She lay panting as he set the pistol down on the table next to her empty cup before turning his attention back to her. Her gaze remained stubbornly fixed on the ceiling as she listened to him pull on a pair of thin plastic gloves. Without warning, he grasped the IV line in her arm and yanked it out. Shepard did not so much as bat an eyelid.

"If that one didn't hurt, this next one will," Heller promised.

Although Shepard fought not to look at him, she could not help but see his grin broadening as he peeled back the paper gown covering her otherwise naked body. Keeping her body limp, she feigned complete indifference as he spread her thighs apart. While the rough fingertips of his left hand parted her sex, he grasped the second tube protruding from her body with his right. Her best intentions to ignore what he was doing to her were shattered by the pain that accompanied the withdrawal of the catheter. Despite her best efforts to stifle her cry, it forced its way out between her gritted teeth in a half-scream, half-grunt.

By far the most humiliating aspect of the procedure was the leering, satisfied grin on his face. With tears of rage and pain stinging her eyes, Shepard rolled her head to one side. She could take comfort only in the fact that she did not react when drops of a pungent, warm liquid splashed against her face.

"Hmph!" Heller grunted, most likely disappointed by the lack of reaction from his patient. "No thanks, Shepard? Ungrateful bitch."

When the door closed behind Heller, Shepard finally gave into the emotions she'd kept a determined stranglehold over whilst in his presence. Several sobs tumbled over one another in their haste to escape her lips. As she cried, she angrily scrubbed her face against the pillow in an effort to dry the urine from her skin. To add a final insult, Heller had also seen fit to leave the paper gown bunched up around her waist.

Shepard's eyes felt crusty and sore by the time she had cried herself out. Their red-rimmed pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache in her gut. Any anger she felt had long since ebbed, replaced by a certainty of helplessness and an overwhelming desire for the nightmare to somehow end. She'd been awake for a few hours at most, and already the experience had driven her deeper into despair than she'd ever been in her life. Even after losing Liara on Alcyone she'd kept going out of a sense of duty. With the war over, there was nothing other than the hope that someone would make the call to harvest the Reaper tech and end her life.

Furious at her own internal thoughts, Shepard sniffed back the latest bout of tears and fixed her gaze squarely on the ceiling. Don't you dare give up. Liara's still out there somewhere. Shepard knew without a doubt that if she could somehow get word to Liara that she was still alive, then the asari would tear apart both heaven and hell to find her. No more tears, she promised herself. Regardless of whatever twisted games that bastard is playing.

As time dragged, there was nothing for her to do other than drift in and out of sleep. Shepard spent her time trying to grasp fleeting memories but most of the time they danced just out of reach. The only ones that she could see and feel with any clarity were the events that had happened since she woke up. Each time she jerked awake, there were only a few seconds when she did not know where she was. Eventually she would try to move one of her limbs and feel the reminder that she was strapped to the bed. The glass of water Stone had given her seemed like an eternity ago and her stomach rumbled with actual hunger pains.

Her entire body tensed when she heard the door open again. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief when she lifted her head from the pillow to see that it was Stone. The blonde doctor had the decency to blush when she noticed the position of Shepard's gown. She crossed the room quickly and, with a no-nonsense motion, she tugged it back down.

"I'm sorry," Shepard said. She thought her voice sounded different – subdued, beaten. "For what I said."

Stone shook her head quickly. Several strands of blonde hair fell forward over her face. "No…it's understandable. Waking up to find yourself here. It must seem like a nightmare. What happened?"

"Heller," was all Shepard offered by way of explanation.

The doctor winced sympathetically. "I am terribly sorry. Dr Heller is…well, he is what he is. The best I can do is caution you to be very careful around him..." She paused and frowned thoughtfully. "Although…would you like a shower?"

With her eyebrows lifted in surprise, Shepard could only respond with a nod that she hoped was not too eager.

Stone began unstrapping the restraints that held Shepard's wrists. It would have been effortless for one hand to dart out. She'd wrap her fingers around the woman's neck and squeeze. She already suspected that her new left hand was stronger than mere flesh and bone. The crystalline fingers twitched as Stone released the hand. However instead of trying to murder Stone, she settled for rubbing her aching wrists, shivering at the way the marble texture felt against her ordinary skin.

"I'll get one of the orderlies to change your bedding," Stone offered. "If you promise to behave, I don't see any reason why you should continue to be restrained."

Some small part of Shepard was starting to feel human again. "Thank you."

With her wrists bound in a simple plastic restraint, Shepard shuffled slowly along the corridor beside Stone. She needed the doctor's arm around her waist to remain upright on her unsteady legs. An Alliance private trailed a metre or so behind them. Even outside the room, it was impossible for her to gain any sense of location or scale, not when all she could see were uniformly standard doors and corridors. For the moment, she was content to let the prospect of a hot shower outweigh everything else – even the image of ripping Heller's throat out.

Shepard was grateful to find that there was no mirror in the bathroom. She did not want to face her own image – not yet anyway. With some difficulty, she managed to strip the paper gown from her body and step into the featureless white shower cubicle. However, she was so busy struggling to turn on the tap, that she did not notice that Stone was standing directly behind her with a blank expression on her face. Shepard was unable to enjoy the warmth of the water cascading over her naked body beneath such scrutiny. It was only when Stone pointed to the water that she understood the doctor was trying to mask their conversation.

"Tell me why they're doing this to me!" Shepard whispered urgently. "Is this a black ops cell that's gone rogue, or some secretive R & D department with off the book funding?"

Stone shook her head sadly. "You don't understand." Her whisper was so quiet, Shepard had to strain to hear what she was saying. "This operation is secret, but it's fully sanctioned…Evan, this is the Alliance."

Shepard could not contain her scorn. "I don't believe you. Why the hell would they do this to me? Where is Hackett, Anderson?"

"Anderson was...ugh!" Stone's face twisted in frustration. "Look...I tell you anything and they'll just take me off your case and find another doctor – probably one who isn't as sympathetic to you."

"And you are sympathetic?" Shepard demanded. "Why?"

Stone sighed. "You don't remember me do you?"

Shepard frowned. As the water flowed over her head and face, she studied the other woman. There was still no hint of recognition. She slowly shook her head.

"March 2177…the Citadel…Purgatory?" Stone prompted quietly. The doctor was standing too close to the stream of water and her sleeve was soaked.

The water hammered against Shepard's skin like a balm.

March 2177.

It was a lifetime ago but Shepard needed no further prompting to remember why the date was significant. It was a month after the massacre on Akuze. She'd been released from extended psych evaluation after having blagged her way to a clean bill of mental health. Much of what she said had been very well constructed lies. The screams of her unit still echoed in her mind and she'd used her shore leave to lose herself in a haze of alcohol and mindless, detached sex.

She accessed scattered memories – mostly short flashes as opposed to anything substantial. The young blonde woman had not been the most gorgeous woman in the club that evening, but there had been something about her. And Shepard wanted her. In the woman's eyes, she'd found the innocence that she desperately wanted to reclaim for herself. She'd had to settle for claiming the woman instead. Naomi had wanted to dance. Shepard obliged by pushing her into a dark corner and dancing the only way she knew how. Later they'd found a cheap hotel in one of the lower wards. It was at that point that her memories fragmented into a haze where Shepard was only certain of two things – they'd fucked and she'd left several hours later.

Of all the places to run into a one night stand – naked in a fucking shower cubicle. Shepard did not know how to interpret this information. As she searched Stone's face for any hints, she kept flashing back to an image of her with her head tilted back and mouth opened in a silent scream of pleasure.

Stone saw the recognition and her cheeks coloured slightly. "You do remember. And here I was thinking that you were the type of soldier that walked away and never looked back."

That's precisely what I did do. "Dr Stone…Naomi, it was one night…almost a decade ago. I don't know what you were expecting, but it meant nothing to me other than a brief escape." As she kept her eyes locked on the other woman's, inwardly her mind was working as she tried to fathom what angle she could possibly be playing. Why bring it up? Why treat me with anything other than indifference? The one thing Shepard could not allow herself to dwell on just yet was the faint possibility that this offered her a chance.

The other woman looked mildly insulted. "Please, I'm not so naïve as to believe otherwise. But I caught a brief glimpse of you, Evan Shepard…before you were Hero of the Citadel and Saviour of the Galaxy. I know who you are and I want to do everything in my power to help you now. Call it payback for the night we shared."

"You know what I need, Naomi." As she kept her eyes on the other woman, Shepard picked up the cleansing gel and a scrubbing pad. She poured a liberal amount of gel over her body and began to scour her skin with renewed intensity. "I need to get the hell out of here-"

"I can't-"

"Then at least get a message to Liara T'Soni," Shepard urged. "It doesn't matter that you don't know where she is. Just get it somewhere on the extranet, bury it, code it, it doesn't matter. Liara will find it and she'll do the rest."

"I can't make any promises, but I'll do my best," the doctor replied in a tentative voice – her fear was obvious. She looked away as Shepard closed her eyes and began scrubbing at her long, dark hair. "You seem very confident of T'Soni's abilities,"

"Not just her abilities." Her love.


In an attempt to feel a sense of tactile contact, Rear Admiral Hannah Shepard pressed the palm of her hand against the cool surface of the glass. Figures moved on the other side of the window. She watched, transfixed, as a blonde woman wearing an Alliance science uniform helped her daughter into a pair of navy-issue track pants. Although it had only been several days since she had last seen her, Hannah had to admit that Evan looked as though she had started to regain some colour and weight. Her movements were still sluggish and uncoordinated, but she managed to tug the pants up herself. She had to stifle an odd mix of pride and nostalgia that crept up on her. How many times had Hannah herself helped her child with the same action? It would had been almost three decades ago, from a young age her stubborn daughter had insisted on being left to dress herself. It was only a few years later that Hannah had lost her altogether as she allowed herself to become consumed with her work at the expense of a relationship with her daughter.

Eventually she had to look away, and find something else to focus on lest she do something foolish like start crying. Her gaze lingered on the second person in the small room, but she could not read his emotionless features. Beneath his thick, black eyebrows, his grey eyes were as dark as slate.

"Admiral Kessler, sir?" Hannah was grateful her voice emerged without a catch. "Permission to be excused."

"Seen enough, Shepard?" Kessler turned to regard her with that stony glare.

"I have pressing work to do. I doubt that the situation here will change." Hannah's own voice sounded cold to her ears.

"The subject does appear to be more docile that reports had led me to believe," Kessler agreed.

"What happened a few days ago was an isolated incident, nothing more. She was scared-"

Kessler's grunt interrupted her. "What if she actually manages to shoot people the next time she's scared…or hormonal? I may have acquiesced to Dr Stone's request to wake her up, but I will not hesitate to shut down this programme if matters get out of hand. You do understand that this arrangement is temporary at best, Admiral Shepard? Unless you are so desperate to keep your daughter alive that you would allow her to spend the rest of her life like this?"

"With all due respect, sir. I disagree. If she becomes more malleable to Alliance tenets-"

A brief laugh snorted from Kessler's nose as opposed to his mouth. "She's your daughter, I would have thought that you would understand the impossibility of that happening more than most."

The Rear Admiral bristled slightly. In all truth Evan had ceased to be her daughter in anything except name the moment she had helped recapture her. Hannah knew her well enough to know that Evan would never ever forgive her for such a betrayal, regardless of the motives behind her actions.

"She will understand the importance of these steps…for humanity as a whole," Hannah tried to protest.

"Hannah, I've known you for over thirty years and I know that you don't believe a word of what you're saying." Kessler remained unimpressed. He jabbed a thick finger towards the two-way mirror where a fully-clothed Evan was resolutely attempting to hold a plastic spoon in her hand so she could feed herself. "I would think that you of all people would realise that Commander Shepard has done more for harmonious galactic relations than anyone else since First Contact. That woman almost single-handedly cured the fucking genophage, she's practically a krogan deity. She managed to get krogan soldiers to hold the line on Palaven so she's also a goddamned hero to the turians. To top it all off, she's married to one of those blue slu-" Kessler cut his own tirade short. He lowered his hand and puffed out his already massive chest. "-one of those asari. Somehow I don't think she is going to support our new galactic policies."

Kessler continued, "Regardless of the dissenters amongst our ranks, the decision was made by those entrusted with the responsibility for ensuring the survival of our race. The krogan are consumed with their own internal power struggles, the turian hierarchy was all but decimated to the point where it will take generations to restore and the asari are still grieving for what they have lost rather than making an attempt to rebuild." His voice took on a note of satisfaction. "Despite the fact that we were the first planet hit, humanity was resilient enough to begin the rebuilding process with unmatched vigour. Our military is no longer outmatched by the turians. However, if this is ultimately going to work, if humanity are going to be the dominant power in the galaxy it requires a certain level of ruthlessness. Unfortunately, one of the casualties will be Commander Shepard. The Alliance simply cannot afford to have The Shepard preaching galactic cooperation. She'll remain at this facility," Kessler said with finality. "As a martyr she cannot disagree with our portrayal of her. Her legacy will say exactly what we need it to say."

"I understand," Hannah replied.

For a few more moments she turned her attention back to the room on the other side of the mirror. Evan was still seated on the edge of her bed, methodically shovelling spoonfuls of thick protein substance into her mouth. Every so often she paused to take a sip of water from a nearby glass. When by chance her gaze lifted, she seemed to be staring directly at her mother. Hannah felt a chill run through her body before forced herself to remain calm. Evan couldn't see her, it was just pure coincidence. However, she had to look away before that haunting gaze became seared inside her mind.

"Admiral Shepard…Hannah, you know full well you can have your pick of assignments," her old friend eventually spoke. "Why remain here-"

"This is my duty, sir," Hannah replied firmly. "And I'll see that it's carried out to the letter."


Fiordland, New Zealand

"I don't want to," she heard Shepard say quietly. The soldier's tone was stubborn, almost petulant.

Liara did not understand. "You do not want to what?"

"Move on." Shepard said as she slapped her palm against the door leading out of the Shadow Broker's office. As she stepped out she turned over her shoulder and said one last thing. "I've never stopped loving you, Liara."

Liara fought to hold onto the image of Shepard she remembered from that moment. It was in the wake of the mission to Menae where she had narrowly avoided ending up as Brute fodder. Shepard had saved her life and then promptly sent her back to the Normandy because of her wounds. They'd quarrelled bitterly about that decision and the subsequent conversation had dredged up a myriad of grievances that they had both packed around themselves like armour. Liara remembered the sick feeling in her stomach when Shepard confirmed her physical relationship with Miranda Lawson. No matter how the soldier had tried to explain it, Liara was unable to see rationality within her argument. She clearly remembered the vehemence in Shepard's tone, her anger as she tried to justify her actions to someone who was unable to admit that she was wrong. The turning point had been initiated when Liara broke beneath Shepard's anger, unable to continue to flaying already raw wounds to drive an even larger wedge between them. She had essentially admitted that she was still in love with Shepard. It was an admission that had almost destroyed her to make as she had the horrible feeling that Shepard no longer felt the same way. The Commander's parting words had thrown everything upside down. It marked the final halt to the downward spiral in their relationship.

As Liara remembered Shepard standing by the door, she could clearly picture the fragile, but hopeful expression on her face. The war had been relatively young. Shepard's hair still tumbled down around her cheeks and she was actually dressed in a clean uniform. The Citadel was still intact, Liara's father was still alive, and Shepard was still weeks from making the decision that would lead to her death.

Even as she struggled to maintain her hold on Shepard's parting words, she felt the memory slip from her grasp. When it was gone, Liara's eyes opened slowly. She was perched on a wide rock that jutted out into the smooth surface of the lake. There was nothing in front of her save for the dark surface of the water. The few sounds she could hear were almost imperceptible – distant bird calls and the slight rustling of leaves. For the first time in the five months that she had spent at Aria's compound, Liara had ventured out of sight of her home. The days of inactivity were dragging to the point where she had failed to even get out of bed the day before. Her network remained dark, the training programmes unused and the food supplies untouched. The one determined act she had performed was to finally take out the photo that she had kept in a drawer for so long and set it beside her bed.

Shepard seldom posed for photos unless ordered to during official engagements. This particular image was a rare candid shot captured three years earlier on board the Normandy SR-1. Liara had to guess she'd taken it sometime between the missions to Noveria and Virmire and it had languished, forgotten, on her omni-tool for months. It was a poor shot, Shepard wasn't even looking at her when the photo had been taken. She was staring off at some unknown point with a pensive expression.

It was one of the few physical pictures she possessed. Most of what she kept of Shepard remained in her mind. She could summon memories and emotions from their melds – all bittersweet of course, but still evidence that they had had a life together. Of late the memories were becoming difficult to control. While they began as fully formed, they soon began to come apart at the seams. As she struggled to hold onto them, they fractured into pieces. Unbidden, her nightmares wove themselves into the fabric in some twisted attempt to create a whole. The memories became grotesque parodies of the life that they had shared.

Liara stared down at the mirrored surface of the water below her and saw her own face reflected back at her. She studied the reflection for a few moments, noting with disgust that she appeared decades if not centuries older than her 109 years. Her skin was stretched taut across her bones, her cheeks were little more than sunken hollows and the clothes she wore swallowed her skeletal frame. When the view became too difficult, she shifted slightly to fold her legs beneath her in a more comfortable position. Her eyes slid closed and she attempted to find some sort of peace and cohesion in her meditation.

You just need to concentrate, she urged herself desperately. Liara reached for another memory. Her concentration was already badly frayed, but she feared that if she did not establish some form of control then the nightmares would completely devour her memories. As Liara slipped into a memory at random, too late she realised that it was one of their lovemaking.

The walls of Shepard's cabin on the Normandy SR-1 formed in her mind and an unbidden heat immediately sparked and caught fire in the pit of her stomach. They were both naked in the middle of Shepard's bed, sheets and clothing strewn haphazardly around them. Shepard sat crossed legged while she straddled her lap, riding the fingers that filled her so completely. Shepard's other hand grasped the nape of her neck. Every finger seemed to be skilfully applying pressure to an area of sensitive flesh somewhere on or within her body. It was all Liara could do to wrap her arms around her lover's neck and hold on as she ground her hips in an incessant, desperate motion. Everything was too much. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back with wild abandon. She did not even recognise the cries coming from her own throat.

"Hey," Shepard's gentle whisper brought her back. "I want you to look at me."

Without ceasing her movements, Liara managed to restore a measure of coherence to her thoughts and control over her body. Both came easier when she found the cool calm within Shepard's light blue eyes. The sensations cascading through her body were no longer a scrambled mess. She was aware of everything happening to her – of Shepard's thumb pressing down hard against the nape of her neck and the taut tips of her sweaty breasts moving against her abdomen. Liara realised that at some point Shepard had added a third finger to the two already moving inside her. She ground her hips downwards and felt their length move against her slick internal walls.

"E-Evan," the name was dragged from her lips in a single, hoarse breath. "I cannot…"

Despite the Commander's control, she felt overwhelmed by the intensity of staring into her eyes as she fucked her. She felt as though her entire existence was hovering on the brink, scant moments away from crashing down around her.

"Liara…focus on me," Shepard said. "My voice."

Shepard drove her fingers deep inside. Liara cried out, her head lolled from side to side and her eyes started to slide closed once again as she felt the hunger building inside her. With a determined grunt, she forced her eyes open again and she found Shepard's. The intensity only increased as her hips bucked against Shepard's hand. Sweat pooled between her heaving breasts as she drove herself towards orgasm.

Beneath her, Shepard strained to keep up. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," she whispered with an expression that was half a smile, half grimace.

When it came, Liara's orgasm was all consuming. She lost her struggle to hold onto Shepard's gaze as her head tilted back once again and a drawn-out scream emerged from her throat. The sound was raw, primal and piercing. It was only when the last of the shudders had subsided that she was able to open her eyes again. The lingering pleasure was instantly replaced by an awful chill when she looked down at Shepard. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream at the sight of her own arm impaled within the Commander's raw, bloody chest. Although Shepard's pale blue eyes were still focused on her, they were brimming with horror and unshed tears. Blood bubbled from the corners of her lips.

"Goddess, no!" Liara's anguished cry filled her ears.

"Goddess!"

As she wrenched herself free of the memory Liara collapsed forward onto her hands and knees. Her stomach tried to expel something solid but all that emerged after several violent heaves was a stream of thin, green liquid. Her head hung limply over the water beneath her as she gasped desperately for every breath. It did not help that she had begun to cry, great racking sobs that caused nothing but pain as they shook her fragile body.

I am not strong enough to do this without you, Evan, she thought bitterly. This was one final, cruel torment. Her memories - the most precious remnant of Shepard that she thought no one could ever take from her, had been corrupted. As she struggled to get herself under control, Liara drew in a series of deep, sucking breaths. Focus, T'Soni…breathe.

"Liara…focus on me. My voice."

Shepard's strong, confident voice ought to have provided the perfect anchor, but the harder she tried, the more difficult it became to grasp her words. Liara cringed at the thought of sinking into any of her vile memories again. She then tried to focus on her own reflection but her vision swam in and out of focus to the point where the creature staring back at her was unrecognisable as anything other than a monster.

Liara lost herself in the skeletal face with its teeth bared in a primal grin. It was mocking her weakness. The dead, grey skin seemed to slough from her face in the moments before it opened its mouth and screamed.

Dead fingers suddenly burst from the still water, wrapping around her head. She felt the talons pierce her skin in the moments before it dragged her downwards. When Liara hit the icy water, all the air was instantly driven from her lungs by the shock. She attempted to draw in more air, but water mercilessly filled her mouth instead. The cold was like a thousand knives piercing her skin at once. As she thrashed, she caught several glimpses of light above her, but the darkness continued to pull at her limbs, tugging her body downwards into the depths.

With a flood of relief, Liara realised that the screaming in her head had finally stopped. When she closed her eyes, she found the blissful silence she craved.