Shepard paced outside Liara's quarters, his mind racing with the uncertainty of what he was about to do. He had long struggled with the frustration he felt seeing her buried in her work during every visit, but today wasn't a normal day on the Normandy. After a grueling five hours on Feros, where he, Wrex, and Ashley managed to save a colony of brainwashed people without killing anyone, he had requested some time off. He took a deep breath as the door's locking mechanism switched from red to green, bracing himself for the conversation — or lack of — he knew was necessary.
The door slid open to reveal Liara at her station, absorbed in her omnitool with such intensity that she seemed oblivious to his presence. Shepard cleared his throat, breaking the awkwardness that had settled near the doorframe.
He knew that it was now or never.
So, with an unusual confidence in his voice, he began his pitch.
"You've been working non-stop lately, Liara. I can't remember the last time I saw you take a break."
Liara didn't look up from her omnitool. Her fingers scattered over the holographic interface, her focus unbroken.
"There's still so much to do, Shepard. The Prothean data disc we recovered from Binthu is massive, and I must analyze every single detail. We might find something important - something that brings us closer to stopping Saren."
Shepard watched Liara with a mix of frustration and concern. Despite her consistency in her work, she couldn't help but reveal her feelings in subtle ways. She'd often find excuses to accompany him in the Mako, her questions about whether he found Ashley attractive seeming more like attempts to probe his interest. Her curiosity about him was barely masked by the aloofness typical of her species. Whenever Shepard tried to reciprocate or address her feelings, Liara would always find a way to excuse herself from her duties, retreating back to her med bay with a cool indifference that left him wondering what the fuss about inter-species relationships was all knew that her repeated glances and her enthusiasm to ride shotgun—whichever hint she felt was good for the day—weren't to confirm if Shepard had changed his mind about the latest mission. He understood that, but she always deflected, never letting him in. And it was driving him insane.
He tried again, leaning further against the doorframe, his voice firmer this time.
"I get that. But you're not a machine, Liara. You need to step away sometimes. Clear your head."
He thought to himself that it might be best not to compare her to the Geth they had fought only mere days ago. But he had to get through to her somehow.
She paused for a fraction of a second, just enough for Shepard to catch it, then continued studying her omni-tool as if nothing had happened.
"There's no time for that, Shepard. We have to stay ahead of Saren," she said clinically.
He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room, his frustration replacing his usual boy-scout demeanor. It took a lot to make him truly angry, but nothing fueled his rage more than Liara's indifference which painfully reminded him of his losses back home. His family had never been the type to express their feelings openly; physical reprimands always came first. And he never told them what they meant to him—good or bad—and now, was left to revisit his cowardice deep in the dawn hours of the night.
"Burying your head in your work won't change the fact that we don't know what Saren is planning next," he said urgently. "What we do know is that the galaxy might not recover from what's coming. We need to use whatever time we have left to show Saren and the geth that we're not afraid of whatever they throw at us, and that we're going to enjoy the moments that we have left with the ones we love."
Liara turned her chair to face him, looking up at the flushed Commander. He'd realized that his pep talk accidentally revealed his intentions. He had planned to ask her out as friends, not as a date, but his nerves and subconscious desires had taken over, a Freudian slip at its best. If she knew it, she dared not admit it.
"Look, I wasn't trying to make this awkward," he said, his voice further revealing his embarrassment. "I just thought it might be nice to get off the Normandy, clear our heads, and just be normal for once." Quietly trailing off, he stared at the Prothean artifact that rested in her lap. He hadn't meant to blow his cover, but seeing her so absorbed in her work and distant had made him resent the 50,000-year-old relic.
"We're going to the Citadel," he said, his voice lower but no less insistent. "Just for a few hours. You need a break, and so do I. We'll go to Flux, get a drink, and maybe—just maybe—you'll remember what it's like to be something other than a researcher for once."
Liara's expression was unreadable. She just sat there, her omnitool now forgotten on her desk, staring at him as if she was trying to figure out what he really wanted from her. He had finally done it, and now it was up to her to decide if those stares were worth it. He almost said something more, almost pushed her to answer, but instead, he turned away, leaving her with the decision.
"Think about it," he said over his shoulder as he walked towards the door.
He left without another word, the door sliding shut behind him, leaving Liara alone in her quarters.
Shepard spent the rest of the day trying to focus on his tasks aboard the Normandy. Although he was officially off-duty, he was still the ship's captain, intimacy be damned. As he sorted out the loot from Feros, his mind kept drifting back to Liara. Every detail replayed in his mind—her reactions, her lack of interest, and the weight of what he had said to her.
He couldn't shake the image of her sitting there, staring at him, her expression a mere stare. He knew he'd pushed her, but he couldn't help it. He needed to get through to her, to make her see that there was more to the galaxy than stopping Saren. Or Prothean artifacts. Those damn artifacts. And he wanted to be one of them.
It wasn't until late in the evening that his cabin door opened, breaking him out of his anxiety. Shepard stood up from his bed, expecting Wrex to drop by with another story of a head-butting "accident" downstairs. Instead, he found Liara in the doorway. She had traded her armor for a simple black dress and a matching sweater. Her usual calm composure was still there, but there was something different about her—an unease that she couldn't quite hide. He had wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful, but he chose silence instead, careful not to ruin what might come next.
"Is the offer still open?" she asked, her voice sweeter than usual.
Shepard nodded, sensing her uneasiness over his earlier confession. "Yes, it is."
Liara took a deep breath, looking all over his minuscule cabin.
"I'm afraid I'll have to decline going to the Citadel. I have work to finish, but I'd prefer to stay here, in your quarters. I need the quiet to concentrate, and I find your presence… comforting."
He silently cursed to himself, thanking Freud for saving him just this once.
"I'm just glad you're staying, even if it's only for a little while."
Reaching into her sweater, Liara pulled out a bottle of Thessian wine and two glass cups. On the rare times he'd talk to her, he'd never known her to be a huge drinker.
"I figured we could make the evening enjoyable after all," she said, holding it up.
As she uncorked the bottle, she stared at it with a hint of sadness.
"This wine," she continued, pouring the liquid into the glass, "was a favorite of mine back in university. Back then, when the Protheans felt more like a distant mystery than an immediate reality, it brought a certain comfort."
She paused, then looked at him.
"I used to enjoy it with my mother. Benezia had a taste for fine things, and this was one of her favorites. Before we lost touch, of course," she said as her body stiffened. She looked to the side, staring at something in the distance that Shepard couldn't see.
Shepard remained silent, sensing the shift in Liara's mood. Whenever Benezia was mentioned, Liara would always go back to her duties, burying herself under layers of research and work, as if the answers she sought could somehow ease the emptiness her mother's loss had left.
He wanted to say something to comfort her but hesitated, unsure if words could bridge the loneliness that Benezia's loss had left.
Liara's eyes still fixated on the invisible point in the distance, her mind clearly somewhere else. Shepard took a slow breath, hoping the moment would pass without her requesting to leave. But this time was different. This time, she didn't leave.
It was the first time she hadn't left.
"I'm sorry," Shepard finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew it wasn't enough but hoped she'd feel the sincerity behind it. Liara's gaze slowly returned to him, the tension in her body easing just a bit. She offered a small, bittersweet smile. It had been a while since Shepard had last seen it.
Too long.
"It's all right," she said, though they both knew it wasn't entirely true. Still, she didn't dismiss his condolences lightly.
Liara opened the bottle of wine again, a ritual holding more meaning than Shepard could fully understand. She poured the deep red liquid into their glasses, sliding Shepard's glass back toward him. She took a sip, closing her eyes to savor the taste.
"It's good," she said before taking a sip, as if sure that the wine's taste had never changed. "She would have liked this."
Shepard nodded, focusing on the endless scattering of Liara's freckles in the dimly lit cabin.
"I'm sure she would have," he said, observing the calm that settled over her. Maybe, just maybe, she was ready to stop facing her grief alone.
"Liara, I don't want you to carry this alone." She paused mid-sip, her eyes distant.
"Shepard, it's not something that can be shared. It's my burden."
He shook his head. "I know what it's like to lose family," he said quietly. "I lost my parents on Mindoir. I was just a kid, barely understanding what was happening. One moment I was playing outside, and the next… they were gone." Liara placed her glass down on the table in front of the two, her full attention now on him.
"I am sorry. I was not sure. I have heard rumors, but I was never sure of anything."
He lowered his head, the memory still fresh in his mind. "It never really goes away—the loss, the guilt."
Liara reached out, placing her hand gently on his. "I may not understand losing loved ones so young, but I feel the same about her, Benezia," she spoke to him.
"That's how it was with my mother. Even after she was gone, I wished she had never met Saren." They sat in silence, sharing their grief.
Shepard squeezed her hand. "Thank you," he said. "For reminding me I'm not alone in this."
Liara pulled back, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, she felt exposed, vulnerable. She sensed Shepard's disappointment as he stopped looking at her. She was trying, failing. But she didn't want an out.
"You're more than that, Liara. More than Benezia. More than the Protheans. You've always been more than that," he said.
Liara stood, walking to the desk in the middle of the room. She had longed for him to see her beyond a professional distance.
Now that he did, it both thrilled and terrified her.
Shepard followed, his attention locked on her. She backed into the desk, realizing there was nowhere to hide. No research to complete.
"Do you have an assignment for me?" she asked, her voice steady.
"Yes, actually. I do." She looked at him, expecting mission details, another task to do, but a kiss on her left cheek told her otherwise.
"Stay with me tonight."
Liara's throat tightened, caught off guard by the simplicity of his request. It wasn't an order or command—just a request to spend the night together without discussing the galaxy.
Her first instinct was to hesitate, her mind scrambling for reasons to say no. Her work, their mission, the responsibilities—these were the usual barriers. But looking at him—tired, desperate, sincere—she couldn't ignore what he offered to her.
"I could use the company," he added, almost as an afterthought, though they both knew it was anything but.
Slowly, she wrapped her hand around his fingers, feeling the comfort of touch and connection of another person. Goddess, she had missed this.
"Maybe, maybe just for the night," she said. She knew he needed her, and she needed him, though she struggled to find the right words to say more.
Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him.
Fear and hesitation settled like distant stars. She touched him all over, then settled her hands on his shoulders, wondering how far he wanted to go, and whether she wanted to take him there. She wasn't sure what the night would bring, but she knew one thing: she wanted to share it with him, wherever it led.
She pulled away, deep in the cabin's darkness. Slowly, she slipped off her sweater and the top half of her dress, revealing her bare breasts to him. The lower part of the dress hung loosely around her hips, leaving her partially exposed. Deeply curious, she took his hand and guided him toward the bed. She carefully laid him down, her invitation clear but on her terms. Climbing on top of him, she placed her hand against his mouth before he could speak. She needed to do this her way, to let go.
Lips close to his ear, she whispered, "Just for tonight, let me lead." Her focus sharpened, her eyes darkened as she surrendered, and she was left to the stars.
He remembered how she removed her dress, revealing herself and nudging him onto the bed. Her touch and the feel of her skin drove him wild. Her desires took center stage as she commanded him, redirecting his wandering lips from her neck to her nipples. As she tilted her head back, exposing the spot he had buried himself in before, he saw her eyes—deep and shimmering, a portal to their unified being. When she pulled down his trousers and attended to both their needs, he felt a part of him let go, forever hers now. He sensed she needed him for this, and he didn't mind working for it. She made him wait, and he was mesmerized by her need and the way she demanded his attention.
When their melding eventually ended, he still felt her essence, as if her heart grew a little bit closer to his. She left a lingering piece of her behind, gnawing at him in the night and forcing him to wake. He noticed her absence only after he focused on the reality right in front of him.
She had left some time after their affair—part one, exploring their bodies, and part two, their joint mind. He reached for the spot where she had given herself to him, his hand brushing against the crumpled bed sheet she had warmed. In the eerie silence of the room, her absence felt like centuries.
He turned on the bedside lamp, slipping his feet across the cabin floor. He didn't know where she had gone, but he hoped she was all right, that she was finding some peace after everything they had shared. Shepard knew that one night wouldn't change much between them. But waking up alone, the memory of her touch still fresh on his skin, made him wish that Saren had already been defeated so that he wouldn't have been left alone in silence.
He needed another drink.
As he approached the wine she had gifted him, he noticed a small, yellow wad stuck to the bottle. Having left her omnitool in her quarters, she had written her parting words on a basic piece of paper.
He braced himself, reading it with the little part of him she had kept.
"Shepard, thank you for last night. It meant more to me than I can put into words. I need some time to reflect and sort through my thoughts. I hope we can find time to talk as friends soon.
– Liara
He placed the note back near the bottle, its message failing to hold him over. He reached for her wine glass, still bearing faint traces of her lipstick. Pouring a generous amount of wine into it, he watched the deep red liquid settle into the bottom of the glass. As he set the glass down, he stared at the empty space beside him—the spot where she had been just hours before.
To the Stars.
Gone.
He wondered if their night together was all he'd ever have with her—memories of her opening herself to him, leading him deeper until she lay there, shaking and unable to speak. He pushed through his mind, pushed through her fears.
For now, he would hold onto the memory of their time together and wait for the next chance he'd be let in again.
Three weeks had passed since that intense night, and Shepard still felt Liara's presence lingering in his mind. Keeping the memories at bay, he kept busy, blasting generic Citadel ambience through his stereo. When the repetitive tunes grew tiresome, he walked to his armor locker and requested a new coat of armor—green, yellow, orange, no, not blue—and painted over the base coat until the colors flushed away his dull mood.
Sometimes, he tried to recapture the intensity of that night, his hands wandering below as he remembered how she was both selfless and demanding, never letting up until the very end. He would almost grasp the memories but couldn't fully capture the sensation. On other nights, he lay in bed, painfully aware of the empty space where her body used to be, waiting for a release that now felt out of touch.
The day before, Shepard had taken Liara on an excursion to the gleaming planet Nepmos. The mission had gone smoothly, but danger struck as they neared the end. A rachni soldier, its mouth filled with venom, flanked them from the left, launching itself at Liara with surprising speed. The creature's razor-sharp talons tore through her shield, sending her crashing to the ground. Green bile splattered across her armor as her shield systems failed completely.
Shepard's heart sank as he saw her fall. Time seemed to slow, the hissing of the rachni mixed with the loud pounding in his ears. His own shields were dangerously low, alarms blaring in his helmet, but he couldn't afford to focus on that. He couldn't lose her—not here, not now. With a raging nova charge, he bolted from cover, charging toward her as the rachni soldier prepared to strike again.
He slid to her side, fumbling for a dose of medigel. With no time for protocol, he applied the gel directly to her wounds, his hands trembling as they touched her skin.
Her eyes fluttered open, pain etched on her face as she met his gaze. For a brief moment, their eyes locked, and she reached out to grasp his hand, her fingers closing around his with a desperate strength. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to offer some words of gratitude or reassurance, but before she could utter a sound, the roar of the rachni soldier shattered the stillness between them. Instinctively, Shepard tightened his grip on his rifle, his heart pounding in his chest. Without hesitation, he sprang back into the fight, the urgent need to protect her driving him forward.
Exhausted, he sank onto his mattress, the weight of yesterday's battle pressing heavily on him. He began his nightly ritual, trying to summon the memories of their time together—knowing he might fail but still clinging to a sliver of hope. Just as he started to lose himself in his fantasies, he heard light footsteps approaching his cabin door.
"Shepard, I wish to speak with you."
He rose from his bed and saw her standing near the doorway, the same spot where he had called out to her before.
"Shepard," she began calmly, "I wanted to thank you for what you did on Nepmos. It means more to me than I can put into words."
"You always seem to tease me with those words, T'Soni," he replied, his voice tinged with hurt. She stepped into his cabin, and they moved toward each other.
He didn't move immediately, letting the words hang between them as if waiting for her to make the first step. Liara hesitated for a moment, then walked over to where Shepard stood. She spun him around and kissed him gently on the lips—a wordless thank you for saving her life. Despite the overwhelming urge to retreat, to escape the weight of what was to come, Shepard allowed himself to be led by her. As their lips met, he surrendered to the moment, letting their hands and bodies speak the truths that words could not. She always knew the right actions to take, though the right words often eluded her.
Liara broke away, her face fixed with a frown.
"Listen, this isn't easy for me, or for any of us," Liara said, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the right words. She looked at him, as if silently asking him to continue what she wanted to say. "I let you into my mind," she continued, her voice shaking slightly. "I let you see—" She paused, glancing up as if hoping he might help her find the words. "I have shown you a part of me that only Benezia ever saw, and I worry that even if I try, it will not truly capture how you make me feel." She took a slow breath, drawing her composure in as she sought his understanding.
He turned away briefly, overwhelmed by a rush of grief. The memories of their last night surged back—the intimacy they shared, the way he guided her hands through their most vulnerable moments. She had let him take over, her trust in him evident in every touch. His mind replayed how her lips had wandered from his touch, drifting lower and lower, reconnecting to the surface as he kissed across her freckles. She had led him further, surrendering completely and without restraints. Now, faced with her words and the sensations that lingered, he was at a loss, unsure how to move forward.
"Liara, our last night together—"
Before he could continue, she cut him off, her voice louder than he had ever heard. "It's not our last, Shepard." Her eyes blinked rapidly, a fierce determination burning within them. "I'm not done with us. We have more to face, more to explore, and more to feel." She took in another heavy breath, her hands gripping his shoulders with an intensity that rivaled their last night. "I'm not leaving you this time."
She glanced toward the bed where they had lost themselves in. Shepard felt her sincerity, a side of her that had been missing before in this very same spot. As if on cue, she began to cry, the weight of the galaxy crumbling on her shoulders. There was no single tear that marked the flood; instead, she suddenly broke down, her tears streaming across her freckled face as she wept openly in front of him. Shepard watched her, his heart aching as she broke down so suddenly. He moved closer, his arms reaching out to cradle the trembling asari. As her sobs wracked her body, her breaths came in ragged gasps. He pulled her into his chest, holding her close, as if to tell her she didn't have to face everything alone or find answers immediately. "You're not alone, Liara," he said softly, his breath brushing gently across her head. "I promise that to you."
Her cries softened, her breath mingling with his as she clung to him. After a moment, she leaned away slightly, then placed her forehead against his. She dared not look at him, not at a time like this, until she lifted her chin and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Taking notes from me, Liara?" Shepard teased, recalling how just a few weeks before, he had been in her position. She laughed through her tears, a small smile breaking through as she wiped them away, comforted by his endearment.
"Shepard," she said softly, her tears now under control. "Let me stay with you tonight. Let us find some sense of peace, even if just for a few hours."
Shepard saw her as she was: always Liara—dedicated colleague, worker, loyal to archaeology and all things Prothean. A grieving daughter, a friend he had come to rely on. He knew this about her, but it didn't stop him from convincing himself that she was more than that. She was a survivor, his friend, his lover, and her bondmate to-be.
He looked at her, really looked at her, seeing her surrender to the moment in a way she had never done before. "Promise me you'll stay," he said, his voice heavy. "Don't leave before morning. I don't want to wake up alone this time."
"Embrace eternity, Shepard," she said, guiding his hands to her lower back. He longed to erase the time from his omnitool, wishing to lie with her indefinitely until, eventually, Saren tore him away from the one who understood him the most. His skin tingled with the desire to show her how deeply he wanted to explore, drifting into memories no one else knew. Liara sought to take him to the space where their souls felt most at home, in the abyss that surrounded them, with the mysteries of the Protheans left behind. But this time, there was no rush, no urgency. No dominance or submission.
Only the quiet assurance of her eyes turning black, a promise that neither would face their burdens alone.