Chapter Seven
A Bastard Behind the Eyes
Location Withheld
Consciousness arrived with a complimentary headache – no doubt courtesy of whatever shit Stone had pumped into her veins to bring her under control. Much to her disgust Shepard also discovered that she was again strapped down to her bed like an unstable, violent criminal. Her clenched fists rattled uselessly in their restraints as she remembered the desperate rage that had provoked her current treatment.
The awful fear she had felt started to slither back into her gut. This time she fought to keep it buried. She already knew that Liara was in danger and earning herself a one-way ticket to a permanent vegetative state was not the key to helping her.
Her movement eventually drew the attention of Dr Stone. Shepard merely scowled unhelpfully when she saw the blonde doctor. She was finding it increasingly difficult to trust someone who was constantly sticking her with needles.
"Evan, you've got to stop behaving like this!" she hissed as she began perfunctorily checking Shepard's vitals and reactions.
"Like what?" Shepard snapped as she tried to wrench her head away from Stone's grip. She failed and was forced to remain still as a bright light shone into each eye. "You treat me like a caged animal so I'm going to behave like one."
"Heller is furious. As soon as you pulled that little stunt last night he started talking about amputating your arm!" Stone tucked her penlight back into her pocket and began taking readings on her omni-tool. "He wants to study the tech embedded in your body, and it would undoubtedly be easier for him if it wasn't attached to you." The doctor glanced over her shoulder toward the two armed soldiers standing guard at the door. "I can't help you like this," she mouthed.
Shepard kept her mouth shut. Stone was undeniably crap at subterfuge and she did not want to attract additional attention. As the doctor moved the scan down her body, she closed her eyes and ignored her altogether. A vexed sigh escaped her lips. She had felt nothing more of Liara while she slept, nor now as she lay, struggling with the impossibility of trying to reach to her over a link she didn't fully understand.
Stone interrupted her thoughts by working at the restraints on her arms. "I can let you off the bed, but I'm afraid you'll have to wear restraints."
As soon as one arm was free, both soldiers moved toward her. One kept his distance and trained his weapon on her. Shepard noted it was a Carnifex and not merely a stun gun. The other held a pair of hand cuffs that would be linked to a secure band around her waist. Wordlessly, Shepard held out both her wrists toward the Private. As they clicked firmly into place over her pale skin, she met Stone's gaze and gave the woman the barest nod.
She would cooperate. For now.
Melbourne, Australia
With most of the personnel on shore leave preferring the boozier, more energetic establishments near the space port, Sam Traynor was grateful to find herself wearing civvies in an almost empty bar on the Southbank. The toll of war was evident in the battered, almost haphazard décor and limited menu, but Sam didn't care. As soon as she was perched in a musty armchair with a very expensive glass of red wine, she felt more relaxed that she had in months. Her chair was perched in front of folding doors that were peeled back to reveal a view of the river. If Sam didn't look to the left at the blackened ruins of half a dozen skyscrapers, then she could pretend that the war had never happened. The daydream could continue with the thought that somewhere out in the galaxy, her parents were still living their lives. Then a message would eventually come from her Mum, reminding her that she had forgotten to call yet again.
Although the entire picture created nothing more than an artificial diversion at best, Sam was determined to find some sort of acceptance within herself. She would never admit it to Joker, but getting rottenly drunk with him had been a turning point of sorts. Sam had discovered that she could laugh again, even if that laughter had ended with a spectacular bout of vomiting into a waste disposal chute. She had always been a crap drunk. She took a delicate sip of her wine, determined that it would be her only drink, before returning her attention to the text on the data pad in her hand.
Despite the novel being one of her favourites, Sam was having difficulty losing herself amidst the words. She had read and re-read the same sentence several times already. Even when she fixed the page with a determined stare, she found the words reorganising themselves into a nonsensical jumble. Eventually she gave up altogether and tossed the pad down onto the table. She took up a determined grip on her wine instead. Sam took small sips while she let the view provide her with a sense of peace.
The bar was starting to come alive a little by the time Sam moved onto her third glass of wine. She soon discovered that the most interesting way in which to pass the time was too study her fellow patrons in as discreet a manner as possible. She had already concluded that most were in the service. Some blatantly advertised this by the fact that they were wearing a uniform. A swarthy, handsome lieutenant was sitting almost directly opposite her. Also alone, he was reading from an actual hardcopy book as opposed to a datapad.
With others, their military profession was obvious simply through the way they carried themselves. Sam had to crane her neck slightly to study a young woman talking to the bartender. Clad simply in a pair of jeans and shirt, Sam thought that perhaps she was a soldier judging by the taut muscles of her forearms. Her dark hair sat atop her head in a pile of tight curls that was obviously deliberately kept short to avoid a total loss of control. When the woman suddenly turned, and noticed Sam staring, the corners of her lips curled upwards into a rather dazzling smile. Mortified at being caught staring, Sam jerked her head away so quickly she felt as though she may have given herself whiplash. As she drained half her glass, she soon discovered that she had a very clear view of the woman. As Sam had expected, she had resumed talking to the guy behind the bar, offering only a view of her rather shapely neck. Somewhat disappointed, Sam was contemplating leaving as soon as she finished her wine when she caught a flash of reflected movement. Both the dark-haired woman and the bartender were unashamedly staring at her and discussing something with grins on their faces. Suddenly acutely aware of the scrutiny, Sam concentrated on the dregs of her wine. The remainder slipped all too easily down her throat and she was left toying with an empty glass for a few moments. Buoyed by the three glasses she'd polished off, Sam shifted in her seat so she could watch the woman at the bar out of the corner of her eye. A light laugh drifted over to her ears, causing a nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach. Sam was still unsure whether they were laughing at her when she saw the woman rise slowly to her feet and smooth her hands on the thighs of her jeans. The bartender meanwhile had poured two glasses of wine which the woman claimed before she started to move toward Sam.
Holy crap, Sam thought as she watched the woman's progress out of the corner of her eye. She is coming this way. Given that there were so few people in the bar, there was absolutely no doubt that Sam was the focus of her attention. Shit, she's going to want me to say something...with actual words.
As Sam was nervously drumming her fingers against the arm of her chair, a shadow fell over her. She drew in a deep breath and looked up with a nervous smile on her face. It faltered suddenly when she saw it wasn't the dark-haired woman. It was the lieutenant she'd noticed earlier, his white teeth bared in a broad smile.
"I didn't expect to find someone as gorgeous as you in a place like this," he announced straight off the bat.
"Um..." Sam was left fumbling for words. Without trying to appear overly obvious she cast a glance back over her shoulder to see the woman making a hasty retreat back to the bar.
"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked, pointing toward the empty chair next to hers.
Yes you do mind. You bloody well mind! "N-no...not at all," Sam said in a voice that sounded defeated to her own ears. He was already lowering himself into the chair before her words were out. She fervently wished that she could find the nous to tell him exactly what she thought of his pick-up line and just where he could go and sit (and it certainly would not be next to her). However, all Sam could do was smile nervously and feel resentful at the fact that the lieutenant had not even thought to bring a glass of wine with him.
"Ah, you're a Brit." He seemed quite pleased with himself for making that observation.
"Not quite," Sam admitted. She originally intended to leave her explanation at that, but he merely watched her expectantly and she continued, "My parents were both born in London but I grew up in a colony. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to return for school and I…um…I studied at Oxford."
He raised his eyebrows. "Impressive! I must admit that my forebears were French, but I hope you will not hold that against me."
Sam was unimpressed. "Why would I?" Without trying to appear overly rude, she was trying to study the dark-haired woman at the bar. She was in the midst of draining her glass of wine while the bartender looked on sympathetically. Was she seriously into me? Sam mused in disbelief, not quite daring to hope that had been the case. The lieutenant was saying something which she completely missed. "Um, I'm sorry. What did you say?"
He laughed lightly. It wasn't an unpleasant sound. Sam had to admit that, even with her limited experience and poor judgement, the man was exceptionally handsome. Admittedly there were only a handful of women in the bar, but Sam was still struggling to understand why he had walked over to her...especially when she had only cursorily glanced in his direction.
"I was admitting that I've started off rather poorly," he said honestly. "You can tell me, I'm crap at this whole conversation thing."
Sam shook her head. "I'm not really the best judge of all that. I guarantee that I am even more crap."
"Well, why don't you tell me your name before we start arguing as to who is the crappiest?" he suggested.
"Crappiest?" Sam asked. "Is that even a word? Crappier?"
"It's undoubtedly crappiest, and the honour definitely has to go to me. I'm Leon Grenier." He glanced down a little shamefully at his uniform. "I'm afraid I've given away my occupation already. And before you think I'm some military type who likes to wear his uniform to impress the ladies, I swear I'm not. I haven't a stitch of clothing that isn't naval issue. My luggage went missing between here and my last post."
Sam nodded politely even as she risked another glance towards the bar, finding her crush already animatedly talking to another woman at the bar. A sigh escaped her lips. Opportunity lost.
"Are you alright?" Grenier asked. "You seem a little distracted?"
"Huh?" Sam jerked her head back to face him. "Ah, yeah, I am. I'm really sorry, Lieutenant Grenier. I'm not usually so wool-headed. And my manners are shite...I'm Samantha Traynor, but please call me Sam."
"And you need to call me Leon," he offered. "Hey, the least I can do is make up for my crappy pick-up line by buying you a drink. Stay right there, Sam."
Oh god, Sam groaned inwardly as Grenier headed to the bar. She had managed to attract the attention of the best-looking guy in the bar, and she had absolutely no interest whatsoever in him. As Sam sat tapping her fingers on the side of her chair, she happened to look up just as the woman from the bar made her way out the door. Her arm was wrapped around a rather cute but scantily clad young blonde. As she passed, she threw Sam a quick look that said very plainly, this could have been you. Sam scowled at her back. She promptly decided that she was glad the woman had not made it all the way to her chair.
By the time Grenier had returned with an entire bottle of wine and two fresh glasses, Sam had already forgotten about the lost opportunity. Despite the three glasses of wine she had already consumed, she did not feel drunk – merely slightly giddy.
"It took me a while to be sure, but I think you're in the service as well," Grenier suddenly announced. He watched Sam with sparkling eyes as he took a sip of his wine.
"How did you know?" Sam glanced down at her rather drab civilian clothes – khaki coloured slacks and a printed shirt that did absolutely nothing for her complexion. She'd borrowed it off Private Westmoreland earlier that day.
Grenier shrugged. "I must admit I was sneaking little glances at you all afternoon," he replied quietly. "Sometimes there was this haunted look in your eyes. I think you've been at the coal face…you know what it was like out there."
"I'm just a Comms Specialist who spent her entire war on a ship," Sam explained simply. She deliberately omitted the part where she had served on the most famous ship in the galaxy. "Compared to most of the civilians out there, I think I had it soft – a warm bed, enough food…and I'm still alive."
"I know what you mean," Grenier agreed. "Sometimes it's hard to realise just how lucky we are." He too slipped into a thousand-yard stare for a few moments and Sam wondered where he'd spent the war. It was wiped all too quickly by another disarming grin. "I'm sorry, we're supposed to be forgetting about war, drowning our sorrows and all that. Let's toast to fallen comrades and then speak of something far less depressing."
Sam raised her glass. Especially EDI, James…and Shepard. The wine slipped down her throat and by the time she saw the bottom of the glass, she managed to fix a smile on her face. When Grenier shifted the topic to their mutual passion for reading, she found herself finally able to put thoughts of the war behind her.
Night had fallen by the time the wine was all gone. With taxis difficult to come by in post-war Melbourne, Grenier's offer to walk her back to her barracks was gratefully accepted. Sam didn't have any great desire to hurry back to the pre-fab she shared with three other enlisted women from the Normandy, but exhaustion and the great deal of wine she'd had was all starting to catch up with her. She enjoyed the peaceful walk back toward the space port, but she was grateful to see the front gates of the barracks come into view. Her head felt exceptionally fluffy. I think you've had one too many, Sam, she told herself. Or five.
Sam had to stifle a yawn as she turned to say goodnight to her companion for the evening. In all truth, she had enjoyed just sitting and talking with the Lieutenant. Removing any romantic attraction had made things a hell of a lot easier.
"Well, this is me," she announced. "I had fun." It was the most words she could string together in her state.
"Can I get your number?" Grenier's words emerged as a string rather than a sentence.
"What?" Sam asked, trying to figure out what she had just heard.
Leon stepped forward with an earnest expression on his face. "Your number? Can I get it? I'd like to see you again."
"Oh god," Sam whispered, she shook her head furiously. "No!"
"Oh…" Leon stepped back, looking somewhat shocked. "Sam…if I offended you-"
Sam shook her head again. "No, oh god…" I'm way too drunk to deal with this right now. "Um…I'm sorry...if I gave you the wrong impression. Not because you're not a nice man...but because you're...well, you're a man and I'm gay, really, really gay -"
"Samantha-" Leon interrupted her just as she was about to enter full on babble mode. "I made a stupid assumption and now I've embarrassed both of us. I guess this is the point where I say thank you for a lovely evening and make a graceful exit."
"Thank you, Leon...honestly. I did have a rather fun evening with you."
"Despite me being a man?" He grinned sheepishly.
Sam responded in kind. "Despite that."
Leon's exit was less graceful, more of a drunken stumble. Much the same as Sam when she turned and blinked several times, trying to remember which direction her bunk was in.
She had to admit to herself a minute or so later that she had absolutely no idea.
It wasn't hard for Ashley to list her favourite things to wake up to. Her Dad's famous buttermilk pancakes with lashings of bacon, banana and maple syrup had always been a rare treat during the times that he was on leave. Even as she grew older, she could still remember the way the smell wafted up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with Abby. When she was a girl she had often taken it for granted that her Dad would spend most of his precious shore leave doting on his daughters. All too often she had pounced on him at some ungodly hour of the morning, begging him to take her walking or hunting in Sirona's vast, largely untamed wilderness. Her memories of the two of them setting out into the pre-dawn darkness with a couple of sandwiches and his antique hunting rifle were among her favourites. They'd often come home empty handed, but it was always the time spent together that was most precious.
There was no tantalising smell of pancakes hanging in the air as she woke – although the lingering smell of her lover's body was every bit as memorable. Ashley's eyelids fluttered open and she found another of her favourite waking moments – the sight of Miranda Lawson standing naked in front of her. Although the curtains were still drawn, Miranda's naked body appeared as though it was glowing in the sunlight that shone through the gaps. Ashley's gaze lingered over everything. Even though she had spent much of the past few days exploring every inch of Miranda's skin intimately, she still could not quite get enough.
Miranda regarded her with a bemused smile on her face. "What?"
"You," Ashley replied simply. "You're gorgeous."
Despite being fully aware that it was the truth, Miranda responded with a self-deprecating smile. Ash was content holding onto the sight of Miranda standing in front of her, but the protests of her bladder couldn't be ignored. Ungraciously flopping out of bed, Ash stumbled past Miranda, hands lingering for a moment, in the direction of the bathroom. Her head swam uncomfortably, a reminder that they had polished off an entire bottle of scotch last night.
"Ouch," she muttered, clutching at her temples.
"Hangover?" Miranda asked in a knowing voice.
"Absolutely not." Ash feigned a smile and straightened. She definitely had a hangover. And it was a right bastard behind the eyes.
As she gratefully emptied her bladder, Ash reflected on the injustice of finding someone that had a higher alcohol tolerance than she did.
She emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, freshly scrubbed teeth making her feel slightly more alive, to find Miranda effortlessly doing push-ups in the narrow floor space. Physical exertion of that magnitude was far beyond Ash's grasp as she lowered herself back onto the bed. She settled for toying with Miranda by pressing down on her back each time she tried to push herself up. This did not last long before she became distracted by the rippling muscles playing across her lover's back and the arresting sight of her biceps. With a frown, Ashley propped herself up onto her elbows and studied her own biceps. She flexed before letting out an irritated huff.
"How the hell did your biceps become bigger than mine?" she asked almost sullenly.
With a bemused expression on her face, Miranda stopped and knelt in front of Ashley. "I doubt that very much. Why don't you drop and give me twenty? I'll happily confirm that your biceps are indeed larger."
Ashley scowled. "What happened to no physical exertion other than sex?"
"Oh, Ash, I know exactly why I love you so much," Miranda replied with a grin. She reached out and stroked Ash's bicep with gentle fingers. "Please don't change. Your biceps are perfect and they're definitely still bigger than mine."
As Miranda rose to her feet, Ashley's sullenness was driven away as she finally had another opportunity to ogle. The raven-haired woman deliberately slowed her movements, even going as far to run one hand over the curve of her breast for Ashley's benefit. While Ashley lay salivating on the bed, she was struck by the tenderness evident in Miranda's words and movements. As she watched Miranda cross the room, she found herself again dwelling on her recollections of her childhood.
"What time do we need to be ready to catch the transport to Vancouver?" Miranda asked as she paused outside the bathroom. When Ashley didn't reply immediately, she prodded, "Ash?"
"Huh?" Ashley rolled over to face her with a clueless expression on her face that clearly indicated she had not been paying attention.
"Vancouver? Your sisters?" Miranda repeated. "What time do we need to leave?"
"Oh…um, 0900," Ashley replied as she checked the time. They still had over an hour. Although she was looking forward to seeing Abby and Lynn, she was disappointed that Sarah had not been able to secure any leave to meet up with them. A part of her also regretted the fact that she would have to share her precious time with Miranda with others, even her little sisters. Did she really want to share Miranda with anyone…ever? "Hey…M?" she asked quietly. Before continuing, she drew in a deep breath. "How do you feel about having kids?"
As Ashley searched her lover's face, a shadow fell for a brief moment before it was brushed aside. "I don't think that now is an appropriate time to be talking about such things."
Ashley frowned. The tenderness that had been evident in Miranda's voice a minute earlier was gone, replaced by the emotionless ice-queen persona she was so adept at wearing. The transformation unnerved Ash because she saw this side of Miranda so rarely.
"I didn't mean that we have to consider it immediately," Ash replied quickly. "I mean, I know it's not the best time to be thinking about bringing a child into this hell, but eventually, when everything stabilises it might be nice to have a little person around with your eyes-"
"And you and I are still on opposite sides of the galaxy," Miranda interrupted. "Are we each going to have the kid for a week at a time? You could set up a playpen on the Normandy's CIC and I can carry it in a goddamn harness on my hardsuit. Is that what you want?"
Ashley had moved into a sitting position as Miranda spoke, her voice rising with each successive word. She eventually shook her head. "No, that's not…" her voice trailed off as she regretted ever remembering the smell of buttermilk pancakes. "Miri…I'm sorry."
A ragged sigh escaped Miranda's lips as she leaned back against the bathroom doorway. "I can't have kids, Ash. I don't know whether it is something that my fa…that Henry Lawson intended, or another side-effect of my genetic makeup…but I'm infertile. Guess I'm not completely perfect after all."
Without waiting for an invitation or an opening, Ashley rose sinuously to her feet and padded across the short distance that separated them. Although Miranda stubbornly resisted her initially, she soon allowed Ashley to fold her into a fierce embrace.
"You are undeniably perfect," Ashley whispered, pressing her face into the thick mass of black hair and inhaling. When she drew back, she simply brushed the single tear away from beneath Miranda's eye without commenting on it. "Shower?"
Miranda arched an eyebrow. "As long as we don't come out dirtier than when we went in."
With their limited supply of lukewarm water having curtailed any time-wasting activities, Ashley was dressed packed and ready to leave in less than ten minutes. She found herself lying on the bed with a bemused expression on her face as she watched Miranda pacing back and forth clad in just her underwear. Her clothing was precisely folded into various piles on the bed.
"Abby and Lynn are hardly going to care what you wear," Ashley commented as she absently prodded a pile of t-shirts with her toe.
With an annoyed expression, Miranda straightened the pile. "I don't care whether they care or not - I care! And just because you bundled up all your gear and shoved it in your damn bag in five seconds doesn't mean you can sit there and ruin my system."
"That's a system?" Ashley asked, staring at the piles of clothes. "Looks more like-" She cut herself off abruptly when she found herself on the receiving end of an icy stare.
Although watching Miranda whilst she was half-naked was enjoyable enough, Ashley soon realised that the other woman did not cope well under scrutiny. To occupy herself, she turned on the ancient wall console mounted adjacent to the bed. Oh god, she thought with an inward groan as the first thing she saw was her own 'enhanced' image being used as part of a recruiting campaign. She was about to turned the screen off when an image of Admiral Hackett suddenly appeared on a news bulletin. Ashley quickly unmuted the sound.
{It is with great regret that we say the Alliance has lost a true hero today. In the early hours of the morning, Admiral Steven Hackett passed away suddenly.} Miranda stopped pacing and turned her attention to the screen with a small gasp. The reporter continued. {It is believed that he had been struggling with a heart condition for some time-}
"Bullshit!" Ashley snorted. "I spoke to Hackett last week. He sounded perfectly fine."
"Perhaps he was masking it?" Miranda suggested uncertainly.
{Already a well-respected and highly-decorated veteran of the First Contact War, Admiral Hackett ably led the Systems Alliance Navy throughout the Reaper War and notably during the Battle for Earth-}
"He was only in his fifties." Ashley shook her head in disbelief. "Shit, after what happened to Anderson…to lose Hackett as well."
The image of Hackett was replaced by pre-recorded interview footage of a striking woman with short hair whom Ashley recognised before her name even emerged on screen – Cpt. Christiane Alves, Alliance spokesperson.
{The loss of Admiral Hackett, while tragic, serves to remind us of the depth of leadership ability within the Alliance,} Alves explained in an emotive voice. {I can confirm that Admiral Peter Mikhailovich will be assuming the command of the Fifth Fleet in its mission to provide support and security for humanity's colonies.}
"Do you recognise her?" Miranda suddenly asked.
"Huh?" Shit, was I staring? Ashley looked up at Miranda. However, her lover was entirely focused on the screen and the grainy image of Captain Alves. She felt an iron-clad guilt take root in her stomach. How the hell does she know? "Okay, I stared at her butt once!" Ashley blurted out quickly. "I was trying to test how gay I am."
Miranda shifted her attention to a guilty looking Ashley and frowned. "When did you stare at her butt?"
"She's Kessler's aide. I gave them a tour of the Normandy two days ago. And it wasn't a stare so much as a glance." It was a stare. "That guy was an ass…Mikhailovich is an ass. Shit, we're surrounded by assholes."
"That woman was in Macapá last week at a meeting with one of my OCS superiors." Miranda ignored Ashley's excuse as she continued, "She had no reason for being there other than to quiz me on my history with Cerberus. I can't believe I didn't know who she was immediately. Seriously, Ash, are you trying to tell me you didn't recognise the woman? What the hell were you doing in 2178?"
"2178?" Ashley frowned. "Damned if I can remember – probably having my ass kicked by my NCO on some godforsaken backwater. What happened in 2178?"
"Torfan happened," Miranda said in a quiet voice. "Alves was also the sole survivor of the Mindoir massacre and one of the candidates put forward to be the first human Spectre. Her candidacy was later dismissed despite some corners putting forward a strong case. You were staring at the Butcher of Torfan, Ash."
Fiordland, New Zealand
Liara had to admit that the smell emanating from the tiny kitchen was mouth-watering. She had spent so many months subsisting on cold food that the thought of eating something hot caused her to feel a small amount of genuine excitement. A few minutes later, when Mack set the plate in front of her, it was a struggle to feign indifference as she picked up her fork. Liara had never made a secret of her dislike for human food, but the first taste of Mack's cooking had her very quickly scooping up another.
"You don't have to stand on ceremony, kid." Mack said as he took a seat nearby with his own plate.
As her companion began eating at a prodigious rate, Liara lost some of her restraint. She ate quickly, but with small portions which she chewed thoroughly lest she upset her tender stomach. Both ate in silence that was punctuated only with the sound of Mack's open-mouthed chewing and the scraping of forks against their plates.
With a properly full stomach for the first time in months, Liara settled back against the sofa with a small sigh. Although she was still weak after being plucked out of the lake the day before, she was rapidly regaining strength thanks to his attentive care. She had managed almost a full eight hours sleep without the aid of medication. While her dreams had still been troubled, she had mercifully not woken screaming. She folded her legs beneath her and tucked a blanket tightly around her body to ward off any chill while Mack wordlessly gathered up their empty plates.
The human had effortlessly integrated himself into her life in a short space of time. Pericles Macklin was nothing like she had come to expect from a mercenary. Aside from the odd phrase and his thick accent, he was well-spoken and knowledgeable. He moved with a lazy sort of grace to his movements that all the best soldiers possessed. Much as Shepard had.
Mack returned with two steaming mugs of Earl Grey tea, one of which Liara accepted gratefully. She felt almost guilty for having done very little other than sleep and devour every morsel of food that Mack set in front of her. When the New Zealander returned to his seat on the sofa, she could tell from the pensive experience on his face that he wanted to say something.
"You've got a lot of tech in here, kid," he said as he nodded toward her inactive terminals.
Liara truthfully had not thought about the Broker's network since she pulled the plug. Even when she turned and looked in their direction, she could not bring herself to summon any enthusiasm for the role she had given up. Although the centuries of her life lay before her, empty and waiting to be filled with some sort of life, she struggled to picture what that life would look like without Shepard.
"Surely you know I am almost twice your age?" Liara replied, deflecting Mack away from his statement.
He shrugged. "Yeah, doesn't change the fact that you're still a kid. You're what, 110 at most?"
"109," Liara replied in a taut voice.
"My point exactly - kid." He took a sip of his tea. Apparently, he drank as enthusiastically as he ate. Liara almost shuddered at the loud slurp. "So why the hell are you hiding away alone at the end of the world?"
Liara lowered her gaze. "Hiding from reminders of a life I once lived…a love I lost."
"Motherfucking love," Mack snorted. "Thought so. Aria wouldn't tell me when I asked her but I knew it had something to do with love – what else can turn a perfectly rational individual into a pathetic shadow of their former self? I say love can go fuck itself in the ass-" He cut himself off mid-tirade and looked slightly apologetic. "Pardon my language."
She almost smiled in response. "No, it is quite alright. My bondmate was a marine. Trust me when I say I can handle colourful human expletives."
Mack laughed in understanding. "So your marine, where were they stationed?"
"On a ship," Liara replied simply. In all truth she had not thought of the Normandy, her home, since her breakdown. She found herself wondering whether Ashley had pursued the leads she forwarded regarding the attack. Wherever the ship was, Liara fervently hoped that she and her crew were safe. "She was the commanding officer of a frigate."
"What was she like?" Mack prodded gently.
"In many ways, she was a quintessential soldier – selfless, brave, guarded…but…" Liara bundled up her blanket in her fists. She found answering Mack's simple question more difficult than she would have thought. "Her driving was abysmal, and her dancing…" Liara did not know whether to laugh or cry. Although she dredged up memories of Shepard trying to blend in on the dance floor at Flux, she also remembered their last dance on the Citadel the night they had bonded. The more she spoke, the more cathartic her words seemed. "She was flawed…vulnerable. One moment she would save my life and the next I would want desperately to shield her from her fears. But no one could accuse her of being weak. At the end, she gave her life to save mine…yours and every other life in the Galaxy." Liara looked up and met Mack's confused gaze. For the first time in months, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips even as her eyes started to burn. "My bondmate was Commander Shepard."
Mack let out a long breath. "Shit. I'm sorry."
Liara did not reply immediately. She knew that if she opened her mouth she would descend into tears. If she kept everything tightly sealed, then she could just about hold herself together long enough to avoid tears. Despite her anguish, she felt better for being able to talk to someone. After spending months keeping her emotions buried beneath a strict regime, the conversation with Mack felt healthy.
"Thank you for the food," Liara offered eventually. "It was delicious."
"It was nothing special," he replied even as he grinned happily.
"And for the use of your home. It truly is a spectacular place."
"Well, I always used to say there's no such thing as an old merc, but it turns out that I was wrong. You spend as long as I did fighting other people's battles then you can rack up a decent amount of credits. Choice was to piss it all away or buy a place like this," Mack explained as he glanced around proudly. His jovial expression slipped slightly when he turned back to face Liara. "I'd let you stay here forever, but I'm not sure how much longer you'll be able to remain on Earth."
Liara frowned. "Why?"
"Let's just say I've been hearing a few things through various contacts. There are several indications that Earth's government will soon be closing its borders to all aliens-" he continued speaking through Liara's shocked gasp "-even one so lovely as yourself, Dr T'Soni."
