Some plot. For funsies. Bribe with feedback. It works, and my ego needs it.
Rannoch was barren.
It was little more than an arid rock occasionally split by fertile areas along river banks, on the shores of lakes. Shepard saw none of those oases while she was on Rannoch. All she saw was wasteland.
The heat was oppressive. It was so hot that breathing felt nearly impossible, and Shepard fought hard for every breath, sucking in each inhalation with focused effort, as if she were trying to breathe inside an oven. It was as if she were suffocating, even though the atmosphere was entirely breathable. The sun glared spitefully at the planet below. The rocky, dusty ground below Shepard's feet only absorbed the sun's rays, meaning it felt as if she was being cooked from above and below.
There were no trees. No vegetation. Just brown rock and dust and sun. The landscape was empty, the only difference being elevation and varying rock formations. The breeze that blew was hot and only stirred up dust in clouds that washed over Shepard like waves breaking upon a beach.
She was sweating beneath her armor. Her face felt gritty with salt from her sweat, and her hair clung to the back of her neck. Dust had caked her face; Shepard had breathed it in and she could feel it coating the inside of her nostrils, in her mouth, between her teeth. Her helmet did nothing but make her hotter, and she was tempted to remove it just to alleviate some of her misery, but she didn't.
Shepard tried to spit, but her saliva was gummy. She was dehydrated; her eyes stung as sweat ran into them. She hated Rannoch. Why the Geth and Quarians fought over this forsaken bloody desert was beyond any comprehension.
And then there was shade.
For a moment, Shepard forgot everything and basked in the relative coolness of shadow, blocked from the torment of the sun. For a moment, there was no better feeling in the world than the moment's respite afforded by the Reaper's shadow.
The Reaper shifted on its many legs, and Shepard hoisted the targeting laser on her shoulder, feeling the familiar heft of its weight. She felt her finger slip through the trigger guard, her cheek resting on the stock of the weapon to sight it properly. It felt so familiar that the motion was automatic, as if she had done it a million times before. Patiently, she waited. The Reaper would prime its firing mechanism, flashing its weakness for just a moment. If she timed it correctly, the Fleet could target the Reaper before it could even fire its beam.
The metal casing slid back, revealing the glowing crimson eye as it surged, pulsing an electric red as it prepared to fire. The trigger depressed easily under Shepard's finger as the Reaper bellowed.
The sound was as indescribable as it was horrific. It wasn't a purely mechanical sound, but nor did it sound like anything organic either. It was terror personified; a sound that was felt as much as it was heard. It reverberated unspeakable horror, paralyzing inescapable fear in a deep primal, synthetic bugle. She felt its resonance in her body, in her bones, in her lungs, in her heart. She still felt its echo even after the Reaper fell silent.
The Reaper's call wasn't just death. It was something much worse than death. It was a death that one knew was unavoidable, but scrambled to flee from all the same, knowing the inevitable conclusion. It was a howl of extinction.
The Reaper's beam scythed through the air with the power of indiscriminate hate. Shepard had heard its call, seen the destruction the beams were capable of. How many had died the first few minutes on Earth? Buildings crumbled under the beam, great facades of glass and metal and concrete incinerated as if they were paper. Ships exploded as if their thick reinforced hulls were little more than aluminum foil. How could an organic body withstand such a force of devastation?
Shepard had seen on Earth that it couldn't. She had watched the scores of people fleeing for safety, running for a hope of sanctuary that didn't exist as the beam cut huge swathes through them. They were there, then they were gone. Men and women and children, families incinerated into ash and dust. Their last moments alive spent in futile terror, their last thoughts of panic.
The worst part was the powerlessness of it. There was no order, only chaos. The beam did not discriminate. It didn't care if you ran faster, if you dodged left or right, if you fled or hid or fought. There was no correct answer, no solution. Survival was based on chance. What could people do in such a situation when there was no option left to them, when nothing was the right thing to do, when no preparation or plan or defense could save them? A few lived. Many, many more died.
The scarlet white beam arced towards Shepard, plowing up the ground in front of her, showering her in chips of burning rock and dirt. Liara's voice called to her over the radio, but it was drowned out by another of the Reaper's petrifying bellows.
"Shepard!"
Shepard blinked. The sun was gone, casting her in darkness. She still felt sweat running down her shoulders and back, cooling, which wasn't right. Her skin felt too light without the weight of her armor. Her oddly empty hands clenched helplessly at fabric. She sat up abruptly, heart rioting in her chest. Several moments passed before she remembered that she was on Earth. There were no more Reapers. The war was over, and she was safe. She felt the warmth of a hand on her shoulder. Liara.
Throwing herself out of the bed, she lunged for the bathroom, only partially aware of her leg buckling underneath her. It didn't matter; she fell in reach of the toilet and pulled herself up in time to vomit. She was only vaguely aware of her physical surroundings. The porcelain of the toilet was cool beneath her forearms as she retched and spat. There was a hand on her back. The stain of hot tears on her face. The tile was hard beneath her knees.
She clutched at a wad of toilet paper and wiped her mouth before falling back against another something hard, the bathtub. Part of her mind registered all of the details. She was sitting on the bathroom floor of their hotel room. Liara knelt next to her. But in her mind, she was still on Rannoch. She was still standing in the cargo bay of the Normandy, watching Earth fall to the Reapers, watching a little boy die.
The memories were powerful, and as much as she tried to focus, she couldn't. She tried to pull one thing from her surroundings to focus on, one thing to convince herself that the present was real but the memories were too seductive, more real than reality.
Liara's voice swam to her as if through a fog. "Lissa… Shepard, you're not there anymore. You're here. It isn't real. You're here with me, and we're safe now." Gradually, the words became more and more plaintive, but Shepard could only hear the Reaper, feeling its noise in her chest. She slapped at the hands that grasped at her, trying to push them away, trying to fight off the panic that was grabbing at her.
Suddenly, she wasn't there anymore. Abruptly, Rannoch and Earth and the bathroom floor were replaced by feeling. Her heart slowed and her breathing steadied to a reasonable pace as warmth and reassurance enveloped her. She was okay. There was nothing to fear as Liara's love and affection washed over her, chasing away the panic and uncertainty. They were safe and happy, and nothing could harm them here. She wasn't there anymore. That was in the past, and it couldn't hurt her. She was with Liara, and the war was long over. There was nothing that could harm her on the floor of the bathroom, except for those horrid insects that humans called "cockroaches."
Gradually, Shepard returned to herself, freed from the lingering effects of her dreams. She yanked away from Liara, mentally rather than physically, and saw the asari's eyes fade from black to blue as the meld was broken.
"Don't you ever…" Shepard hissed through clenched teeth and realized she was sobbing. "…you ever do that again!" She tried to blink away the tears but they kept coming. Her eyes stung, but no amount of blinking held them back.
Liara acted as if she had not heard her, and smoothed her damp hair from her brow. "You're okay, Shepard."
The meld was too dangerous when she was like that; when all Shepard could feel was fear and panic, when she was completely lost to memory. She did not want Liara joining with her, even if it put her at ease. She did not want her lover to experience those emotions, see what she had seen. Liara wasn't fragile; she had seen her fair share of atrocity over the years, but Shepard was determined she not be subjected to any more.
Catching Liara's wrist in her hand, she held it tightly, forced her to look at her. "Don't do that again, Liara." Her jaw was still clenched. "I mean it, don't."
She knew Liara, knew the flash of defiance that crept into her eyes, and she prepared herself to argue. She would make it an order if she had to, but she could not bear for her lover to feel with her, to experience her nightmares, her memories. Liara opened her mouth to reply, but a subtle blue light interrupted them both.
Their eyes had already adjusted to the dark, so the subtle blue light was blinding as it approached. It bled into the bathroom from the bedroom, growing steadily stronger until Miranda appeared in the doorway, a sidearm leveled at both of them.
The other human's biotics snaked in visible wisps around her, like glowing water vapor, like fog rolling off the water. As her eyes settled on the two women on the bathroom floor, as she realized there was no danger, she lowered her weapon, and the biotics gradually faded like smoke dissipating. "Are you okay? My sensors went off, and I heard a shout."
Miranda had evidently leapt out of bed and reached for her sidearm, heedless of her state of undress. It was odd. Shepard thought she had been accustomed to seeing Miranda in civilian clothes, in anything other than that Cerberus uniform. But, it occurred to her that she had never seen her tie her hair back into a messy ponytail. And she would have never guessed that the perfect woman wore boxers to sleep.
"We're fine, Miranda. Shepard just had a nightmare." Liara gently tugged her wrist from Shepard's hand and stood. "I'm sorry we woke you."
Slowly, Miranda nodded. "Get her onto the bed. I'll grab my kit and make sure she's okay."
They both spoke as if she was incapable of answering for herself, which should have annoyed Shepard, but instead she found she was too exhausted to care. She allowed Liara to slip an arm under her shoulders, to help her to her feet. She hissed in pain as she put weight on her bad leg, but with Liara's assistance managed to limp back to the bed. "I'm fine, Liara."
The asari smiled and cupped her cheek leaning down to kiss her tenderly. "I know. But let Miranda check you out. You know how stubborn she can be."
"I'm not stubborn," Miranda responded as she returned into the room, the sidearm in her hand replaced with a small black leather bag. "I am responsible Shepard's medical care, and I believe in being thorough. Liara, will you get the lights?"
The lamp on the bedside table was blinding, and Shepard squeezed her eyes shut against the assault of the light. She felt hands on her face angling her towards the light, knew instinctively they were not Liara's hands. Fingers prodded the healing cut on her temple, felt at her neck for her pulse. "You still have sensors on me?" She opened her eyes, Miranda's face directly over hers.
"Of course I do." Her fingers danced over her omnitool as she scanned Shepard's body. "They are set to alert me if there is an abnormal fluctuation in your vitals. I am directly responsible for your medical well-being, Shepard. As I am sure I have told you a million times." There was a faint hint of annoyance in her voice, but Shepard found that familiar and strangely comforting. Miranda dropped to her knees and began scanning her bare leg. "You're putting too much stress on this leg. You need to take it easy."
Behind Miranda, Liara scoffed. "I heard that." Shepard frowned as Miranda bent her leg and then extended it, testing her range of motion, stopping when she felt resistance. "It's not like I've tackling krogan or chasing after geth. I've been walking." She could not help but snap irritably.
"Which you should not try to do without your cane," Miranda pointed out, and Shepard wanted to snap back at her but Liara moved beside her and placed a hand on the back of her neck as if she could read Shepard's mind, so she stayed silent. "I'm going to administer a mild sedative to help you sleep." She reached for her bag.
"I don't need a damn sedative." She hated being made to feel as if she were an invalid, incapable of caring for herself. She was fine, more or less.
"You need to rest, Shepard. Please." Liara's voice was soft, soothing. Her fingers toyed with the hair on the back of her neck in the way she knew Shepard loved. Her blue eyes were solemn, full of loving concern, and slowly, Shepard nodded. If it made her lover feel better this was a concession that she would make.
"Fine." Shepard grunted and held out her arm for Miranda and the syringe she held. She looked up at her lover, felt a pang of guilt that accompanied the pinch of the needle. "Thank you."
Liara's lips met hers gingerly. "You don't have to thank me for anything. I love you."
"How often does this happen?" Miranda whispered once Shepard was asleep again. She and Liara had closed the bedroom door behind them and sat on opposite sides of one of the couches in the lounge.
Liara rubbed her eyes with the back of her palm. "Not often. I think bringing her here, her seeing all the destruction… It wasn't a good idea." She should have realized that seeing the rubble, the chaos still left on Earth might trigger such a response in her lover. Once every couple of weeks she woke up crying, or screaming, depending on the nature of her nightmares. This had been the worst of it. Usually after a few calming words from Liara, the dream would relinquish its hold on Shepard and she would be… maybe not okay, but not trapped in another time, another reality.
Tonight, she had been forced to join with Shepard, to convince her that the dreams weren't real, that she was safe. What she had seen, felt in Shepard's mind was horrible, and she shivered with the thought of it. "Besides, you have sensors. Shouldn't you know?"
Slowly, Miranda nodded. "I wanted to hear what you thought. Usually, I can tell when she's just having a nightmare. It passes fairly quickly. Tonight her vitals were slower to return to normal." The human had tucked one of her legs underneath her, the other bent and held to her chest by looped arms. It made Miranda appear much younger, much more vulnerable than Liara ever remembered seeing her. "Are you okay?"
Liara laughed ruefully. "I never thought about it before. It hurts to see Shepard like this, to know she sacrificed so much of herself, that she still suffers so, just so we can all be here. But I've never thought about it; I just take care of her, do whatever I have to help her. It has reached a point that this is normal, and that is…" She thought for a moment. "…okay. I'll always do whatever I can to take care of her. I love her."
"And you truly are alright?" There was a note of concern in Miranda's voice that caught Liara off guard. Could she ever have envisioned a time when they cared about one another?
"Yes." Liara tilted her head to the side, smoothed the oversized t-shirt she wore for sleeping over her lap. Who would have imagined there would ever be a time when she and Miranda cared for one another, let alone would sit in their sleeping clothes in the middle of the night having an emotional conversation? "I never give it much thought, honestly. I suppose it is similar to Shepard. She never questioned what she had to do, she just did it and never wasted time doubting. Even now, if you asked her, I am sure she would tell you that she is satisfied with the way things turned out. It is not so different for myself. Or you, I imagine."
"That is true. But I am also aware of how… difficult the commander can be."
Liara smiled fondly. "Yes. She can be. Wishing you would have implanted that control chip, Miranda?" The perfect woman had the grace to look abashed, and had the light not been so dim, Liara might have thought she was blushing. "Yes, Shepard told me about it. And sometimes, I wish you had too."
Miranda's gaze snapped to her, disbelief clearly dancing in her brilliant blue eyes. When she realized that Liara had been only half-teasing, she laughed incredulously. "Interesting. Given the nature of your relationship."
"Just because she's my… owner," Liara faltered a bit over the word, still unaccustomed to talking so freely about her and Shepard's relationship with another person. "Does not mean we agree about everything. Or that she doesn't drive me absolutely crazy at times. Do you know I had to threaten to call you and Admiral Hackett once to get her to take her medicine?"
"I'm sure she appreciated that."
"You have no idea, Miss Lawson." Liara smiled faintly at the memory.
The cushions shifted under Miranda as she moved closer, next to Liara, seated sideways so that she was facing the asari. "Do you remember what I told you when we first pulled her from the rubble?"
Liara tilted her head to the side. She tried not to think about those days, much. When everyone was terrified, uncertain if the Reapers were really gone. It was as if the entire galaxy held its breath, waiting, not daring to hope. "I do," she responded slowly. "You told me that you would give her back to me, that I wasn't alone. We would get her back together."
Nodding, she reached for Liara's hand, initiating physical contact which was wholly unlike the former Cerberus operative. "That's still true," She said quietly. "You don't ever have to do this alone." Clearly uncomfortable by the sensitive turn the conversation had taken, Miranda persevered nonetheless. "I am here. For both of you. After the Reapers… I like to think that we share more than just Shepard."
It was true. However clumsy the declaration had been, Miranda had said she was Liara's friend. The early months of Shepard's recovery were a blur of procedures, of sleepless stretches, of desperate waiting, longing to see clear green eyes and that certain smile. Miranda's hand on her shoulder, her voice cutting through the haze, her honesty and diligence, the firm, grim line of her mouth as she worked. Liara squeezed Miranda's hand. "Thank you. Not just for Shepard, but for everything."
Eyes two different shades of blue met. "Come back with us. To the mountain. It would be nice to have you there, and I know Shepard likes having you around. It might… help her. I know she misses not having the squad, a crew."
"To that horrid little cabin?"
"Yes," Liara smiled and patted Miranda's bare knee. "And you can explain the odd human fascination with this 'plaid.'"
I am pretty sure this fic will never end. Ever. And I am okay with this. I'll keep on going as long as y'all keep wanting to read this. Feedback me, y'all.
And another massive shout out to T.A. Blackwell for keeping me from making stupid mistakes and being an asshat, and for being a huge support. Y'all should thank her.