Liara

I did not keep track of the passage of time. I slept, I ate, and I explored the labyrinth of the ship and the Shadow Broker's operations. The sheer scope of what the brokerage did daunted me, and I wondered yet again how one person could wield so much power without their name being known or their identity compromised. I began to doubt my ability to do the same…I could not live a life in isolation, nor sacrifice connection…not even for all the power he possessed.

I downloaded the Shadow Broker's dossiers on the new crew of the Normandy, those who had been contracted by Cerberus to go through the Omega Four relay and attempt to stop the Collectors at their heart. As their secrets were revealed, I began to understand more than I had before…and worry more, as well. Shepard was surrounded by some of the greatest talent in the galaxy, if the taking of lives and other unscrupulous pursuits could be considered talents.

There were many who were mercenaries, though with strange codes of honor that reminded me of Serena herself, and the moral ambiguity with which she traversed the galaxy. Then there were others, who should not have been on this mission whatsoever. Samara, an asari Justicar…I did not understand how someone with a code so stringent could countenance being on a ship filled with thieves, assassins, a mad scientist, and human supremacists.

Then again, I chided myself for my disbelief, in what world could a naïve archaeologist help deliver the galaxy from the hands of the Reapers, and become the Shadow Broker? How can I doubt any story that I see when my own has been so far from what tenuously passes as normal?

"Liara," I heard the voice that sent shivers down my spine, and turned to see Shepard.

She stood at the door, waving her hand at Glyph, the Shadow Broker's…exceedingly over-helpful and talkative VI. I could not help the smile that crossed my face as I watched the normally calm, composed commander bat at the hovering VI as though she were brushing away a noxious insect.

"Liara, what the hell is this?" she demanded.

"You walk into my new home unannounced, and you are demanding explanations from me?" I asked, keeping my tone light, conversational, wondering why I was slipping back into old patterns.

Conversations peppered with humor, speaking long into the night, my head pillowed on her shoulder, her hair tickling along my crest as her hand roved up and down my back. The silken feeling of her skin against my own, the tinge of wintergreen ever-present on her breath. How her heart would accelerate when she laughed, as though every part of her felt the joy she vocalized.

"Only when the giant glowing mosquito with the posh voice welcomes me as 'Commander Shepard' and immediately starts following me around like a lost puppy." Shepard answered, grinning with the uninjured side of her mouth as I walked closer.

Her color looked better; the pallor of the blood-loss had diminished, though she had not yet regained the full glow of health. Her hair, which she had allowed to grow beyond Alliance regulation, brushed the tops of her shoulders in fiery waves. The line of stitches across her face still seemed garish and out of place, but the healing skin did not look angry or infected.

"This is Glyph." I gestured to the VI with an open hand, and immediately the little orb hovered above my palm. "He is programmed to be the Shadow Broker's assistant, and as I am the new broker…well, let us just say he has become attached."

"He?" Shepard questioned my anthropomorphizing of the virtual intelligence.

"It seems to have developed something of a personality beyond its programming." I shrugged my shoulders. "But considering as he does nothing but mine for information, and how he's had no company but the yahg…"

"You'd have to do something to keep from shutting yourself down in self-preservation." Shepard nodded. "You need to get him a fur suit with a sloppy tongue and a wagging tail, though. Give some credence to his whole identity issue."

I miss this, the thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. I miss simply…talking to someone who understood me. Holding a conversation with someone who comprehended all of my secrets, who had seen into my mind and shared her own…the sheer comfort that comes from the most inane actions. I miss this very much.

"You have still left my question unanswered." I smiled, finding that it was becoming easier to do that near Serena. "How did you get in without my knowledge?"

"A very sneaky, very grateful drell." Shepard answered. "And my own, unsurpassed ninja skills."

"Your idea of stealth is a pistol in lieu of a rocket launcher." I raised my brow and she threw her head back in laughter.

The sound shivered through my body, piercing straight to my heart, reminding me of better times, happier times, times that the woman before me did not simply want to recapture or relive…but create anew. I remembered speaking with Zhira, her advice for me to take my life and live it. To accept, embrace…and I knew that she meant the beauties and the difficulties, the triumphs and the sorrows, the present and the memories.

I cannot be scared any longer. I cannot torment myself with questions, nor cower in the dark asking what might be if such and such a path is taken. I am tired of being afraid, of being a coward, and of hiding from pain.

"You're right, at that." Shepard nodded. "In any case, I…I wanted to come talk to you in person. Chakwas just cleared me for duty and Miranda's getting antsy because she can't get a message out, and the Illusive Man expects updates on a certain timeline."

"So you came to tell me that you are leaving." I nodded. "You needn't have arrived in person to relay that. A simple call would have sufficed."

"I don't want to leave just yet." Shepard said. "I'm not going to get in my ship and fly away just because my XO wants to. The mission is important, but so are our lives. I'm not going to put one in front of the other."

You did once. The thought came lightning fast, unwanted and unbidden, causing an old, malevolent feeling to creep into my heart. I looked at the woman before me, remembering chasing down her corpse, nothing but hate, a manifestation of murdered love, burning in my spirit. I remembered the loneliness, exhaustion, and pain that had made it easy to push a needle into my veins and soar away from my life. All of these memories had her name written through them...perhaps unfairly...but memories could not be unwritten. Pain could not be forgotten. Scars could be removed from the body...but not the psyche.

"All right." I said, measuring my words, attempting to measure my feelings, to let them flow through me, to possess and understand them without allowing them ruling me.

"Come back to the Normandy with me." Shepard offered. "Nothing permanent just…we'll talk. Really talk. About all the shit that bullets and bad guys kept interfering with. Please."

I will not run any longer. I will not let my fear and my uncertainty define me. Even if this is a trial by fire, I will burn, in order to see the truth in what will emerge.

I opened my omni-tool and typed a quick message.

[Feron, you have the ship.]

"I am ready when you are." I said, following my once-lover down the hall, towards the shuttle bay, and to whatever my future would hold.