Fingers traced over delicate flesh. She could feel her heart pulsate with every breath that touched her sumptuous skin. There was an immediate giddiness deep in the pit of her stomach, anticipation that built there until it poured outward in an immense flow of uncontrolled, raw emotion.
His lips touched hers and she could feel her nails clawing at his shoulders and back. His muscles were firm and taut. Her fingers traced the smooth surface of the scars he wore like medals awarded in battle. She eagerly sought to replace the pain the old wounds had caused with joy and pleasure.
She could hear the sound of her own breathing as he pressed his lips against her throat and then over and over upon her collar bone. His calloused hands were caring, yet animalistic as they wandered over every inch on her body. She could feel the anticipation building once more, but this time lower than before.
She welcomed the heat of his body upon hers. She felt her entire psyche melt into a puddle of interwoven sensations. His skin on hers, the satin material of the sheets beneath them both and the occasional breeze of cool air that a nearby vent whispered into the room created an amalgam of perceptions that manifested deep in her mind. Her entire form was tingling. He teased at her lips once more with his, and then lightly danced his tongue around her ear. She breathed heavy now as the sensation increased her arousal. Her eyes were closed tight, but her body was fully awake absorbing every caress, every moment. She arched her back, pressing her form into his. She felt his arm snake around her waist and pull her into him.
"Oh, Shepard…" she breathed almost silently between heavy gasps.
Liara's lids fluttered open. She stared aimlessly at the ceiling of her compartment aboard the SSV Normandy. She blinked a few times before she rose, the sheets drifted off the contours of her body as she sat up. She was alone.
She glanced around the interior of the room. Having felt Shepard's presence so keenly just moments before she had to be certain she was truly alone. A quick scan of the place revealed that she was. She sniffed at the recycled air and let out a heavy sigh.
The ship was silent. The hum of the antiproton thrusters and the Tantalus core were far removed, barely audible here in the only place she could call home. The feeling of loneliness that welled up inside her felt unusually powerful tonight.
The air was cool in the cabin. She rose to her feet and wrapped her body in a cozy, knee length kimono-style robe that Kasumi Goto had gifted to her. She loved the feeling of the light voile material against her skin and the intricate woven cerise colored floral designs that sat beautifully upon a white backdrop. It was a garment she'd worn often in the Commander's cabin after she'd stepped fresh from the shower. He'd found it difficult to keep his hands to himself in those moments. A miniscule grin crept upon her face.
John Shepard is alive! The thought rattled to the front of her brain like a cooking pan dropped loudly upon the floor. She could almost shelf the myriad of concerns that floated through her mind at any given moment. She didn't know who had taken him, or why. But that didn't matter now because he was alive and that meant their time together could continue. It was just a matter of getting him back. And she knew there was no force in the galaxy that could stop her from succeeding in that regard.
She tugged the fabric of the kimono snugly against her body and indolently floated over to the myriad of consoles arrayed along the wall of the compartment. "Good evening, Dr. T'Soni. Trouble sleeping again?"
"Yes, Glyph," she said solemnly.
"Would you like me to play you a soothing melody?" the drone asked dutifully.
A thankful, but reluctant smile spread across her face as she turned to address the drone that labored so much for her. "No, Glyph. That won't be necessary. But thank you."
"As you wish, Dr. T'Soni," the drone responded. His normally illumined shell dimmed as he retreated back into a corner of the cabin he favored most when idle.
Liara's fingertips danced along the haptic adaptive interface of her consoles. The combination of her many screens illuminated into an array of different search results. Before she'd gone to sleep she had set her data-mining software to comb the depths of the extranet for even the slightest morsel of a mention of Commander Shepard. She looked for prominent biogenic company purchases, data-mined the black market trade of illegal cloned organs and forums where slavers that specialized in 'high market' products resided. As diligently as she could, she let the Shadow Broker's tendrils squirm their way into the galactic network looking for any clues that might shed some light onto who had taken Shepard and why.
She thought back to when she'd been so ruthless in the pursuit of recovering his remains. It had been a grueling, unwelcome affair that she didn't waver from. Indeed, it had been transformative. She had been a researcher, a biotic of questionable combat prowess when Shepard came along. A tumble of disjointed memories came to mind; the Commander rescuing her from the geth on Therum; the first, stumbling probes into who Shepard was; the way he met her heart race in the awkward silences that fell between them thanks to Liara's sheepishness; the first moments he led her and Garrus into battle against the resurrected rachni; the taste of their first kiss… a moment she seemed to have wait a century for.
So many years of their time spent together were characterized by conflict and fraught with violence. The world they shared was chaotic and every day they labored against a force so monumental in size and power that it miraculous they hadn't succumbed to a mindset of inevitable doom. But then Liara had never been the focal point of strength, nor the epicenter of stability. That was Commander Shepard. His imperfect leadership was perfect in the moments when no one else stepped forward to fill the void—a void created by a galaxy unwilling to accept the specter of annihilation on their doorstep. He tried to make them believe and when they wouldn't he simply carried on the fight without them. It was easy to worry or become consumed with doubt in the lonely hours of the darkest nights. At times the thought of giving up had surfaced too. But when she looked to Shepard and saw his ceaseless devotion to the task at hand, his endless supply of energy and his willingness to sacrifice it was enough to inspire her to stay the course. She could never forgive herself for seeking safe harbor when her paramour was caught up in the largest storm the galaxy had ever known. His devotion shamed her for such bleak thoughts and she redoubled her efforts to the cause.
And so they fought, and they bled, and they sweat, and they shed tears. Friends were lost, innocents were slain, communities were destroyed, and worlds were torn apart. But they'd won. And somewhere along the line they had found time to love one another. What started as the tiniest, faintest whisper grew and grew until it was as powerful as a shout. Unequivocal, unrelenting, ever-enduring—it blossomed into something greater than either could have anticipated. It stitched together a feeling of hope, a scene of the future—life after the Reapers. A life shared together. A life of peace, hard earned from years of bloody conflict. But it was not to be. At least not yet.
She let out a lengthy sigh. No new information had presented itself in any of the processes and bots she'd sent slithering through the extranet. In this she was uncharacteristically impatient. She'd checked their statuses before bed, only to rise three hours later to check again. It wasn't unusual to see days or even weeks go by before her assets and sources could feed her intelligence that was useful.
Her eyes searched out the empty interior of her compartment. Glyph sat idly at rest, his systems powered down and oblivious to his patron's internal suffering. How grand it would be to have a VI capable of mending heartbreak. The loneliness reverberated through her bones from somewhere deep inside.
No Liara. Don't let despair grip you, she told herself. Shepard is alive and you're going to find him. It's another chance at peace. Another chance to lay eyes upon him again. And you're going to do what it takes to make that happen. She scratched absent-mindedly at her brow and sighed again.
She needed to sleep. Or try. She glided back over to the bed, hoping slumber just might find her yet.
In the war room Garrus came upon James Vega seated firmly in place in front of a monitor. Footage from Wrill was playing on the screen and Garrus saw Vega's features fixated on it. He stood behind the Marine for several minutes, but Vega didn't notice him. He was too absorbed in the footage that appeared on the monitor.
"Vega," Garrus spoke up finally.
The Marine seemed slightly startled and swiveled his chair around to greet Garrus. "Scars," he said simply. "What's up?"
"What are you doing?"
"This? Just going over footage I shot on my helmet cam," he reported innocently.
"What for?" Garrus asked, crossing his arms.
"I made some mistakes out there," Vega admitted lowly. "Need to get better."
"By watching this footage over and over?" Garrus questioned. "Traynor says you've been in here for hours."
"Well I had to make a report to Admiral Hackett and write up the after action review."
Garrus cocked his head. "So that took twenty minutes. Then what?"
Vega shook his head and let out a sigh then gazed up at the ceiling. "Okay. You got me, Scars. I've been watching this video over and over. So what?"
"Learn anything new?"
"Yeah. Like I said, I screwed up. I nearly got Tali killed," Vega replied with an edge in his voice.
"You knew that back on Wrill, though. Didn't you?"
"So?"
"So what is watching this footage over and over going to tell you?" Garrus questioned rhetorically. "James you can't dwell on a bad decision you made in the heat of combat."
"Look, this is the first time I've been responsible for someone's life since… since Fehl Prime," Vega admitted hoarsely. "I have a responsibility to you… to Tali… to everyone on this ship to be me at my best. To be better… better than what we run up against. To bring you all back safe and sound. Just like the Commander did each and every time we stepped off that Kodiak."
Garrus was silent for some time. Only the sound of the nearby consoles could be heard as they idled with a dull thrum of their cooling units. "You're going to make mistakes. We all make mistakes, James," Garrus reminded him. "Trust me. I've made more than enough myself. You learn and you move on."
"That's what I'm doing."
"No, you're sitting in here obsessing over a call you made in a split second. You're not getting anything out of this, Vega. You're just tearing yourself a part. That's not how you become a better leader," the turian's tone was serious, but affable.
"I could have got her killed, Garrus!"
"But you didn't!" Garrus snapped back a bit more forcefully than he intended. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Look, I know the risks. Tali knows the risks. We all know the risks. We don't follow you because we have to. We choose to. We trust you. We know things go wrong out there. Shepard didn't always make the right call, Vega. I was with him long enough to be subjected to a few questionable orders from time to time."
James eased back in his chair, contemplating the turian's words.
"You know what made Shepard better?" Garrus asked. "He didn't scold himself endlessly over slipups. It was his understanding that a leader isn't perfect. He noted every screw up and he did better the next time we went out. But he didn't dwell on every bad call he ever made, James." The turian shook his head. "He didn't have time for that."
James was quiet. That feeling of hopelessness had been paralyzing for him. To see Tali under heavy fire, in a position that James had put her in, was maddening. He couldn't recall a single moment where Shepard had thrust any of his team into such an exposed position. His fingers rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, Scars… you're right."
"I know," Garrus said cockily. "I've been doing this a long time."
"Sometimes I think it might be easier if you just commanded the ground operations."
"Now, now, James," Garrus said wryly. "I know you don't actually think that."
James looked up at the turian. "What? You don't think I think you'd do a good job?"
"Oh, I know you think I'd do a good job. I would do a good job. Better than you," he said with a chuckle. "But Admiral Hackett is picky about who he puts in charge of this tub."
"I know you're not calling the Normandy a tub," James responded wagging a thick index finger at the turian.
"It's an affectionate nomenclature," Garrus excused himself. "Best ship I ever served on."
"That's what I thought."
"So what's the next step?" Garrus inquired.
"Remnant heat signatures indicate they've branched off in two directions," Vega explained, biting his lower lip. "According to our ship heat dissipation index their signature matches a Vesuvala class transport freighter." The Vesuvala was an old volus design—in service for well over fifty years. It was a small ship for entrepreneurs and freight liners that couldn't afford heavier class merchant ships. Its fuel consumption was such that it had a fairly limited operational range; an even more glaring issue now without mass relays. Additionally, its aged anti-proton thruster design meant the ship was slow, especially compared to the Normandy. "We can go after one of the ships. We're fast enough to overtake them. But if Shepard isn't aboard then we'll lose the other ship—most likely."
"Even if we overtake them, how can we get aboard if they're FTL?"
"The Vesuvala's have crap fuel economy. We have their projected heading and based on that fuel consumption there isn't many systems with active helium-3 infrastructure to support refueling. Traynor is working the math right now, but she should have a solution for us soon. We'll jet ahead, park on the far side of whatever gas giant the fuel station is at and then bam." He slapped his hands together loudly.
"Impressive."
"Yeah," Vega admitted. He scratched the back of his head. "I actually suggested we camp out places they'd use to discharge their heat sinks and the static from their drive." He paused for a moment, rolled his eyes and dabbed at his lips with his tongue. "Traynor reminded me they have way too many options for us to cover. Then brought up the whole fuel thing."
"She continues to surprise," Garrus pointed out, not that it was necessary. "Shepard's faith was well placed."
"She's brilliant, really," Vega agreed. "Calm and creative. Couldn't ask for a better officer. She does so much more."
"I guess you'll have to mention that in dispatches."
Vega grinned. "I don't think I've been in charge long enough for that." He scratched errantly at one of the scars on his cheek and then hopped to his feet. "I need a break from all this officer stuff. What do you say we play a game of Liar's Dice? Pretty sure we can get Collins to join."
Garrus looked suspiciously at the Marine. "Joker told me about that game. I don't drink tequila, Vega."
"We'll find you something suitable," Vega responded as they headed for the exit of the war room. "Maybe Adams has some left over antifreeze, or maybe some of that lubricant you're always using to calibrate Tal—errr the weapons with?"
"Very funny."