A/N: This chapter contains a (brief) description of non-consensual sex.
Chapter Sixteen
Fabrication of Truth
Melbourne, Australia
An inevitable sense of alienation descended as she stood, very much an outsider, staring at something that had once been the closest thing to a real home she had ever known. Although it was a form of self-torture, Miranda Lawson stared at the SSV Normandy SR-2 from the other side of the fence – taunting herself with the sheer physical proximity the familiar world contained within the frigate. And Ashley.
Despite being cradled in its moorings, the Normandy appeared poised for immediate action. The hard-won battle scars had been erased from its sleek metallic finish, but everything else was as Miranda remembered.
One hand made a fist, fingers curling until they bit into her palm, to remind herself that she could not simply stroll into the dock and request permission to come aboard. She was tempted. The opportunity for a few hours in Ashley's arms, to have another farewell, was something she desperately wanted. And couldn't risk.
Although she was prepared to eventually deal with the consequences of lying to Ashley, she did not want to risk exposing Shepard's survival to a wider audience, nor her own involvement. There were any number of excuses she could have concocted to explain why she had yet to ship out, but Miranda had nothing to explain away the barely healed scar that travelled almost half the length of her arm. The doctor in Lanzhou had done an adequate job with the limited resources available to him. With a heavy bone weave and artificial skin grafts, she would eventually regain full functionality with minimal scarring. However, with barely any time to heal, she currently had only limited movement. Not to mention the fact that it ached like hell. She had abandoned the cast out of necessity, opting instead for a discreet compression dressing concealed beneath her uniform.
Miranda lingered for a moment longer, before she wrenched her gaze away from the Normandy. Her movement was so abrupt that she did not see the other person moving behind her. They collided. The jarring movement caused hot stabs of pain to shoot up her arm and radiate throughout the rest of her body.
"Fuck!"
She had to clamp her lips together to hold back the stream of profanities trying to escape her mouth. With her eyes watering from the pain, Miranda prepared herself to deliver a baleful glare to the unfortunate victim, accompanied by a few choice words.
"Oh my god!" her assailant spluttered. "I'm so sorr-…Miranda?"
Instead of a stranger, Miranda found herself staring into the familiar, wide-eyed face of Samantha Traynor. The technician was wearing a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt liberally soaked in sweat. If her clothing did not give her away, then her dark red cheeks and gasping breaths clearly said that she had been out for a jog.
"Specialist," Miranda said through gritted teeth as she kept her arm as still as possible.
"Well, actually it's Ops Chief," Sam corrected her quickly. "Not that these things matter in the slightest because you're not here to talk to me. Commander Williams will be thrilled to see you-" Sam took in the uniform Miranda was wearing and she stood up a little straighter in her sweat-stained gear "-ma'am. I would be more than happy to fill out the requisite forms to get you on board."
Miranda sighed. "Traynor-"
"Oh! Perfect timing - Sarah Williams is on board." Sam was too enthusiastic to notice that she was interrupting Miranda.
"Traynor!" Miranda had to raise her voice several octaves to get the woman's attention. Cognisant of the fact that they were in a relatively exposed position, she grabbed Traynor's arm and led her into a more secluded spot in the lee of a stripped and abandoned Mako.
"Okay, not the reaction I was expecting," Sam huffed, rubbing at her arm. "You were skulking around the Normandy's docking bay, Miran – sorry, ma'am. I could only assume that you were planning to come on-board."
Miranda scowled. Half a dozen solutions to her current dilemma were jostling for position in her head. The ability to turn back time was only marginally more ridiculous than eliminating Traynor. She was angry at herself for having given into the temptation to come here in the first place.
Eventually she came to the unpalatable conclusion that she would have to tell the truth. As congenial as Traynor was (irritatingly so on occasion), she loathed the idea of anyone having such an insight into her personal life. While it was unlikely in Traynor's case, it was still fodder that could be used against her.
"Why are you even out running?" Miranda demanded.
"Avoiding the Commander's incredibly hot sister," Sam replied instinctively – failing to heed the golden rule of thinking before speaking.
Miranda's foul mood dissipated somewhat in response to the other woman's honestly. She went to fold her arms before again realising that the comfortable pose was impossible. "From what I've gathered, I am almost certain that Sarah is irredeemably straight."
"Based on the way she's chasing after the Normandy's new XO? Irrefutably," Sam muttered. She rolled her eyes. "Straight people."
"The new XO?" Miranda raised her eyebrows. Without having had any contact with Ash, she was in the dark on all the latest Normandy news. It was further confirmation that it was no longer her world. She couldn't stifle her curiosity. "How is…the new crew working out?"
"Um…fine," Sam said with an eager nod. "The new XO is actually a pretty decent guy – which is probably just as well for him given Sarah's barely concealed interest. So far the Commander has only kicked one arsehole off the ship."
Miranda winced and pressed her hand to her lips. "Please tell me she at least followed regulations?"
"Ah…no," Sam replied, unable to suppress a grin. "She most certainly did not." She cocked her head to one side as silence crept into the conversation. "It's probably none of my business, but why are you making no attempt to fight your way on-board to see the Commander?"
"I'm not here," Miranda answered succinctly.
"Err, yes you are. You're standing right in front of me."
"No, I'm not here," Miranda stressed. She tried to fold her arms yet again and let out a growl of frustration. "I lied to Ash, saying that I was shipping out earlier than planned. In actual fact, I only received my final posting today. It's foolish, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to get this close. I should have just stayed away. Now I've put you in the unenviable position of having to decide whether to keep my secret."
"Oh." It was the only reply Sam could manage for almost a minute. Eventually she shook her head, more for her own benefit than Miranda's. "Um…yes, of course I will. I mean, I won't tell the Commander I saw you. Although I don't understand…why did you have to lie to her in the first place?"
Miranda had told Sam the truth, but she didn't have to tell her the whole truth. She remembered what Shepard had said – that the fewer people that knew she was alive, the better. It would eventually come out of course, but she did not want to burden the young techie any more than necessary…even to relieve her own burdens.
Traynor deserves to know, Ash deserves to know, Miranda told herself. What right do you have to keep it from them? "You'll have to trust me when I say there are some things that you shouldn't know…and that this had nothing to do with hurting Ash. I know the two of you are close friends."
"We are," Sam said in a tight voice. She straightened in an effort to make herself appear taller than she actually was, or at least taller than Miranda.
"Traynor…Sam, I'm not having an affair," Miranda emphasised. An affair couldn't be a less likely turn of events. "And I'm not asking you to lie for me. The truth will come out eventually. I'll tell you myself, I promise. Everything just needs time to settle. All I'm asking is that you don't mention my presence here today…please"
Sam pursed her lips for a moment before replying, "I won't…I promise."
Miranda nodded. "Thank you, Specialist. I am...indebted to you." She checked her omni and scowled at the time. "This may sound melodramatic...but I think my life is over. I have to report for my first official posting."
"Good luck, ma'am."
Miranda responded with a tight-lipped smile before turning to leave.
"And it's Ops Chief," Sam added with an air of futility.
It was only on her fifth reading of her orders that Miranda finally accepted that they were not going to change with subsequent readings. The orders very clearly stated that she was to report to the SSV Montevideo at 1530 hrs for immediate departure to the Attican Traverse. The cruiser's destination was the human colony of Mindoir.
Mindoir!
Miranda stared at the colony's name as though trying to make some sense as to why she had been assigned to the arse end of nowhere, to a planet so infamous that the mere mention of its name was enough to sow doubt in the mind of even the most resilient colonist. Although she was well-versed in historical events, she had very little recollection of the planet itself save for the fact that it was an agrarian society. Given the need to rebuild twice – once after the Batarians and once after the Reapers – it was no doubt a primitive community with limited resources. She could very clearly understand the need for an Alliance presence to safeguard the colonists, but did it need to be her?
Miranda had honestly expected to be posted to Alliance R & D - nothing important given her history with Cerberus, but some backwater project where she could at least prove her worth. This was beyond a joke. She checked the time. It was already 1315. Miranda had absolutely no interest in pursuing the usual pastimes of a marine about to embark – alcohol and energetic sex. Drinking to excess wasn't her style and the one person she wanted to fuck was out of her reach. There was nothing to do other than collect her sea bag from the storage locker and find a berth on the Montevideo.
She picked herself up from the bench on which she'd been sitting for the better part of an hour outside Alliance headquarters. The Australian sun was invigoratingly warm. While it had never been a concern before, for some reason Miranda felt as though she wanted to hang onto that feeling for a little longer before the chill of space. The warmth was one of the few pleasant memories she retained from childhood. Miranda sighed as she began walking. Becoming a colonist had never been on her wish list of experiences. It wasn't necessarily that she thought herself better than those other marines who had received the same posting.
Except I am better, Miranda thought with an annoyed snort. And they've decided that I can be best utilised by safe-guarding cows. She didn't give a rat's arse whether they actually had cows on Mindoir.
"Second-Lieutenant Lawson?"
The voice across the courtyard caught her attention immediately for its familiarity. Miranda stopped and turned, expending an inhuman amount of effort to keep from scowling when she saw none other than the Butcher of Torfan herself, Captain Cristiane Alves, crossing the courtyard to intercept her. Now I know why it is Mindoir, Miranda thought as she narrowed her eyes. I wonder if she's got any helpful advice to offer. Bloody smug bitch.
"I thought that was you," Alves announced with a broad grin when she drew near. "Shipping out today?"
"Yes, ma'am." You know full well I am. It was all Miranda could do to keep her tone civil, especially when her imagination kept taunting her with the prospect of throwing the Captain into the half-finished ornamental garden behind her. Currently it was merely a large mud puddle. "Mindoir," Miranda offered before the question could be asked. "I've never had the privilege of visiting, but I'm looking forward to the challenge."
If Alves realised her convivial tone was forced, she did not let on. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest, a simple movement that irked Miranda. "I spent my childhood on Mindoir. It's a beautiful world…or it was a beautiful world before those four-eyed fuckers tore it apart. I haven't been back since, but I hear those engaged in the rebuilding effort are working miracles. I'm sure they'll be very grateful to learn that Miranda Lawson will be joining them."
Miranda nodded politely. "And I'm grateful for the opportunity." She feigned glancing at her omni-tool to check the time. "My apologies, ma'am, I need to report-"
"The common misconception is that it's flat," Alves interrupted thoughtfully. "The farming belts are of course, but large parts of Mindoir – especially Northern climes - remind me significantly of Alaska...or parts of Canada, Alberta for instance. Have you spent much time in Alberta, Lawson?"
"No, I can't say that I have," Miranda replied smoothly. "Us Aussies don't really appreciate all that snow and ice."
"Pity, it's beautiful really." Alves closed the distance between them. Before Miranda could appreciate what she was doing, she uncrossed her arms and reached out to lay a hand on her upper arm – the injured one. It was all Miranda could do to keep her composed expression from slipping as Alves' fingers tightened around her tender flesh. "Watch yourself on Mindoir won't you, Lawson. You'll be a long way from Earth Space. It would be a shame for the Alliance to lose such a valuable asset when we've so recently acquired you."
"I have absolutely no intention of getting lost," Miranda promised. "But thank you for the advice. With your leave, ma'am?"
Miranda did not wait for the Captain's permission to depart. She simply turned, dragging her arm free from Alves' grip as she moved. The simple act almost made her gasp in pain, but she kept her back ramrod straight and her footsteps energetic as she marched away from the Alliance Officer without looking back. Internally however, her mind was reeling.
Attican Traverse
When her eyes opened to the darkness, it took Liara several moments to remember that she was on board a commercial freighter. The vessel's original manifest had listed its destination as Ontarom, a human colony in the Kepler Verge, but the destination had been changed en route. They were headed toward Omega – still thirty-eight hours out.
Liara shifted against the chair in which she was sitting in an effort to find some measure of comfort. Although she was no stranger to falling asleep in a chair, this particular one was hard, small and not at all conducive to sleep. The freighter was old and its environmental controls had seen better days. As such, the temperature was several degrees below comfort. Liara tugged her blanket up closer to her chin as she peered through the darkness toward the bed. The narrow bed in the cabin was occupied by her bondmate. Ordinarily it would have offered them ample space to sleep in each other's arms. Liara closed her eyes and smiled at the thought of Shepard wrapping her strong arms around her waist as she had done so many times in the past. She would have enjoyed the lack of space, giving her an excuse to sleep close.
However, this was not the past. A sharp grunt from the bed caused her eyes to open again. Shepard appeared restless in her sleep – tossing and turning as though she was in the grip of a nightmare. Given all that she had been through, Liara was hardly surprised. The asari threw off her blanket and peeled her body out of the chair. Quietly, she crossed the short distance to her lover's side. As she neared, the faint green glow from the emergency lighting revealed Shepard's body to be covered in sweat despite the chill in the air. She knew that she ought to restrict herself to folding the covers over her exposed body, but her hand lingered on the centre of Shepard's chest, willing her to find peace amid her dreams. Beneath the palm her hand she felt the rapid beat of her lover's heart.
"Evan," she whispered quietly, smoothing strands of sweat soaked hair away from the human's face. "You need to remember that you are safe." She trailed her fingers through the dark tresses, marvelling at their length. A small smile crossed her face as she remembered the last time that she had paid such attention to Shepard's hair. "I cannot believe that you let an asari armed with scissors anywhere near your hair," she reflected in a fond voice. "You called me a butcher. I thought you looked very dashing with such short hair. But I like it like this too. It is not regulation length, but it is beautiful."
Her voice trailed off but she continued trailing her fingers through Shepard's hair, and brushing them in what she hoped was a reassuring manner against her scalp. Her bondmate seemed to calm for several moments. A smile even ghosted Shepard's lips. Liara let her hand linger for the last time before returning to her chair. She drew it back at the moment that Shepard's eyes snapped open and her left hand darted out to catch Liara's wrist. If Liara had not appreciated before how abnormally strong Shepard's artificial hand was, she was now fully aware. The fingers tightened around her slender wrist until the bones felt as though they were at breaking point. One sudden move on her part, and her wrist would snap.
"Evan!" she gasped. "Please…"
"Liara?" Shepard's eyes suddenly widened and she released her hold immediately. Sleep fell away quickly as she shuffled into a sitting position. She pressed her back into the corner of the sleeping alcove as though seeking a defensible position. "I'm sorry." Shepard shook her head. "I didn't mean to hurt you like that." She crumpled forward, placing her head in her hands.
Her wrist smarted and would possibly bruise, but Liara flexed it to find it still in working order. "No lasting harm done," she managed in a brave voice. She could not deny that Shepard's fury had terrified her.
"You don't understand," Shepard whispered, shaking her head. "I'm not talking about your wrist. Just…please don't touch me, I can't be trusted."
Liara bristled. "Evan, I'm your bondmate, and I know you. I trust you implicitly!" she tried to reassure her, but her words sounded hollow even to her own ears. "Will you at least do me the courtesy of actually looking at me?"
Shepard lifted her head from her hands. Although she found some measure of peace in Liara's concerned gaze, she could not allow her defences to drop. The same nightmare had returned yet again, although this time her unconscious mind had failed to wake her up in time. She remembered every moment of the act – a perversion of the relationship that they had shared. Her stomach churned and bile rose in her throat.
Liara remembered implicitly the conversation that she had with Mack. His advice to her had been to remain patient, and she had accepted it at the time. Now she was beginning to understand something of the pain that was eating away at her lover. She understood it because she recognised it as similar to the darkness that had almost destroyed her. Patience was one thing, but waiting until it was too late was another altogether.
"You need to let me in," Liara said resolutely. Although her hand was trembling, she lifted it to Shepard's temple and pressed the pads of her fingers against the clammy skin. "You need to let me in there…please?"
"No!" The blunt response was accompanied by a vigorous shake of her head. "Don't ask that of me."
"I know you do not want me to see what happened to you," Liara continued. "And I wish I could respect your wishes, but in this I cannot. If you do not let me in, I cannot help you heal."
"There are some things that cannot be healed," Shepard replied stubbornly.
"I refuse to accept that!" Liara countered firmly. Her liquid gaze hardened. "Give me permission." Her voice was harsh. It was not a request, but a demand.
Shepard held her gaze for almost a minute. All Liara could hope was that she saw the love there, and the promise that she would do everything in her power to help her – regardless of what it was eating away at her from the inside out. As soon as Shepard's chin tilted forward in an approximation of a nod, Liara steeled herself and embraced the meld.
From their first tentative attempts whilst trying to unravel the mysteries of the Prothean beacon embedded in Shepard's mind, their melds had progressed to the point where it was like coming home. That familiarity was still within Shepard, but it was almost overwhelmed by a strong memory that managed to override everything else. From Liara's perspective, it felt as though Shepard was bombarding her own consciousness with it as a form of punishment.
Two bodies writhed on a non-descript bed. Liara immediately recognised a youthful Shepard on top, one she had never known. The soldier's hair was cropped at cheek-length, her taut, well-defined muscles rippled across her back as she moved. As Liara moved forward the other woman twisted her head to one side. Liara recognised the blonde woman from the shuttle, also much younger. An obvious cry of pain emerged from her lips, cut off sharply as Shepard cruelly crushed their mouths together in a violent approximation of a kiss. One hand she used to pin both the woman's wrists against the mattress, while the other was buried between their bodies. It did not require any imagination for Liara to realise what was happening with each forceful thrust of Shepard's body. She had to fight to keep from dissolving the meld and fleeing. Liara forced down her first reaction, continuing to move forward despite her mind screaming at her.
The naked Shepard suddenly looked directly at her, eyes wild with lustful abandon. "You see now why I didn't want to let you in? You can't heal this, Liara. Nothing will change what I did to her."
The blonde screamed again, and Shepard laughed. Liara dropped to both knees. Within the meld she felt Shepard's lust and desire, and it terrified her. She had been on the receiving end of those same touches, and yet the violence meant that they were worlds apart.
Liara also felt her revulsion. The shame was tearing her apart.
Liara forced herself to concentrate. The meld laid everything bare between them. With a half-choked sob of relief, she realised that the scene in front of her was not a memory at all. She forced herself back to her feet. Although she wanted to be as far away as possible, Liara knelt at the side of the bed so Shepard could not avoid her. Even in the meld, she could smell sweat and arousal.
"Evan, this is a fabrication. It is not real," she insisted. "You need to show me what actually happened."
As though someone had entered a command into a console, all the details became apparent. The scene was taking place on the Citadel. The blonde woman was Dr Naomi Stone. "What happened after you met Naomi at Purgatory and took her back to your room?"
The scene suddenly shifted with nauseating speed. Shepard was lying on the same bed, but she was no longer naked. She wore a white vest top above plain blue jeans. The fly was undone but they were still snug over her hips. The blonde was nowhere in sight. She stubbornly shook her head. "I don't remember!" she protested. Her fingers scrubbed at her temples in frustration. "We were in Purgatory-"
Her words were accompanied by a set of flashing images – the first glance across the bar, the slurred, innuendo laden conversation, and the dark corner at the back of the club - all set to a pulsing beat.
"There was a taxi ride-"
Further snapshots. As the two women pawed against one another in the taxi, Liara felt Shepard's intrinsic desire on one level, but the base emotions that she was trying to forget kept trying to force their way to the fore. The asari heard the screams of dying marines. Their faces were contorted beyond all recognition by maw acid, but she knew exactly who they were – Cash, Ryan, Kopernicki, Yorke – all were squadmates, many had been friends, and a few were occasional lovers. They all had one other thing in common – they had died by the dozen on Akuze.
"I don't remember the hotel room," Shepard whispered in despair.
"Yes you do," Liara said confidently. She glanced around, seeing details that she had missed when she had not been paying attention. "You are in it now – you remember the creaky bed, the hideous green carpet-" Liara glanced up and saw a print above the bed. For some odd reason she recognised it as a work by one of the more famous elcor artists. "Even the cheap print hanging on the wall. These are details you have just forgotten. You know exactly what happened."
"I had been fucking horny in the club…even the taxi." Shepard shook her head. "But when we made it back to the room everything suddenly caught up with me. The booze, the Hallex…we were on the bed, kissing, undressing…Naomi went to the bathroom…"
A fog descended over Liara in tandem with Shepard's memory. She felt an immense amount of satisfaction as she bunched up the pillow beneath her head and closed her eyes. Sleep felt fucking wonderful…even better than sex. A hand was shaking her urgently, a voice was admonishing her to wake up – playful at first and then heatedly. The last sense that Liara picked up was that Shepard didn't give a fuck, all she wanted to do was sleep.
The meld dissolved and Liara lost her connection with Shepard's consciousness as she familiarised herself with their tiny cabin and the woman sitting in front of her. Shepard was trembling in her sweat-soaked vest, her teeth chattering together in a strange staccato.
"I passed out," she whispered in a small voice.
"You are freezing." It was Liara's chief concern. Without thinking, she manoeuvred her own body atop the bed and drew Shepard against her. The human's skin was like ice against her own. Her own relief was soaring in her veins, even as she drew as many blankets as she could reach up over Shepard's body.
"I fucking passed out," Shepard repeated as she pressed into Liara's side. She shook her head in disbelief. "That bitch made me believe I raped her…yet all along she knew the truth. What the hell kind of person does that?"
Liara also shook her head. "I do not know, Evan…perhaps someone had hurt Stone once and she projected that onto you. Perhaps she enjoyed it…" Her voice trailed off. "I do not want to speculate."
"I fucking saved her life," Shepard hissed between gritted teeth.
Liara drew in a tremulous breath. "And I took it." When Shepard pulled away, Liara feared that she had undone everything they had accomplished in the meld. In pulling the trigger and killing Naomi Stone, she had wilfully gone against the promise she had made to Shepard. She waited for the disappointment to settle over her lover's features. "I do not make a habit of breaking my promises to you, but in this case…I am sorry, Evan…but I would do it again given the chance."
The disappointed expression never came. Shepard allowed her body to settle back against Liara's side. This time her anger had dissipated to the point where she could relax against the asari's curves. Even through the fabric of her uniform, she could feel the subtle warmth radiating from her body. Shepard sighed and felt her fears drifting away from her with the soft exhale. "No you wouldn't…you'd let me do it." For the first time since her rescue, she felt completely free. "Thank you, Liara."
Apparently, some things could be healed.
