Chương 1: Ghosts
(Earth 2187, Near London)
The air hung heavy with the scent of burnt metal and the weight of shared grief. Liara stood amongst the gathered mourners, the rhythmic drone of the speeches washing over her, meaningless and distant. The fallen Citadel loomed large in the background of it's five arms now only two remained; the rest are buried under the earth where it crashed, a stark, jagged monument to victory and loss. Earth's sky, a bruised canvas of grey and purple, felt oppressively close.
Shepard was gone.
The finality of it slammed into Liara with the force of a rogue asteroid, stealing the breath from her lungs. She could still see him, vivid as day, the ghost of his smirk playing on his lips, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. He should be here, standing tall, a beacon of hope against the ravaged landscape. But instead, there was only this... emptiness.
Liara's gaze drifted to Miranda, standing ramrod straight, a figure of stoic grief in her Alliance dress uniform. Her hand rested on her stomach, a barely-there swell beneath the fabric. Liara had been shocked when she'd heard. Miranda, pregnant with Shepard's child. A bittersweet miracle, a piece of him that would endure.
A flicker of something cold and sharp, like shards of ice, pierced Liara's chest. Jealousy, ugly and unwelcome, reared its head. It shouldn't be this way. Shepard should be here, holding Miranda's hand, his eyes shining with fatherly pride. He should be looking at her, at Liara, with that warmth that bloomed in his eyes whenever their gazes met.
A warmth he reserved solely for Miranda.
Liara had tried, during their years together, to convince herself that it was enough. That being Shepard's friend, his confidante, sharing in his burdens and triumphs, was enough. But it wasn't. Not really. She'd fallen for him the moment he walked onto the Normandy, her heart captivated by his rough charm and unwavering determination.
And now, as the wind whistled through the broken ribs of the fallen Citadel, carrying with it the echoes of promises unkept, Liara was forced to confront the painful truth. She would never get the chance to tell Shepard how she truly felt, of how she did something she wasn't supposed to when they said their goodbyes when she asked to meld with him before the battle she took something, how she would have her own piece of shepard in the future, she wasn't proud of it but she couldn't stop herself.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Liara's gaze fell on a figure standing apart from the rest of the mourners. A woman, her face half-hidden beneath a worn woolen cap. But it was the hair that drew Liara's attention – black as a raven's wing, framing a face etched with a quiet, familiar sorrow.
Mary.
Liara hadn't told Shepard about her. Not yet. After acquiring the Shadow Broker's network, her curiosity about Shepard's past – his carefully guarded past – had gotten the better of her. It took some digging, some delicate prodding within the darkest corners of the extranet and a lot of agents, but she'd found her. Shepard's mother. The woman who'd given him up, left him to the mercy of Earth's unforgiving streets.
Fury, white-hot and immediate, surged through Liara. How dare she show her face here? After all these years, after abandoning him…
Liara felt the familiar thrum of her biotics, a low hum of power vibrating just beneath her skin. She wanted to march over there, to grab that woman and scream, to demand answers for a betrayal that wasn't hers to avenge. But something, perhaps the solemnity of the occasion, or the crushing weight of her own grief, held her back.
The speeches continued, words blurring together in a meaningless drone. Liara kept her gaze fixed on Mary, her jaw clenched, a silent promise forming on her lips.
Shepard might be gone, but Liara would get answers. For him. For herself. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find a way to forgive herself for never finding the courage to tell him the truth about her own heart and for what she took.
The ceremony seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Each solemn word, each tribute to Shepard's valor, felt like a fresh wound on Liara's soul. She stood there, a statue of grief, her gaze never wavering from Mary. The woman was a wraith, barely there, her shoulders slumped, her gaze fixed on the ground as if carrying the weight of the world.
Finally, mercifully, it was over. The crowd began to disperse, a somber procession of mourners heading towards the makeshift shuttles that would take them back to their lives, their galaxies, now irrevocably dimmed by Shepard's absence.
Liara waited, her eyes never leaving Mary. The woman lingered, hesitant, as if contemplating approaching the makeshift memorial – a pile of grey stones arranged in the shape of an Alliance star, adorned with wilted flowers and mementos left by grieving soldiers and civilians.
But Mary didn't move. She just stood there, her body wracked with silent sobs.
Liara watched her, a storm of emotions swirling within her. Anger, confusion, a strange, unexpected flicker of pity. Shepard would have hated this, she realized. This display of raw emotion, this outpouring of grief. He'd always been so private, so fiercely protective of his past.
And yet, Liara couldn't bring herself to look away.
Finally, when the crowd had thinned, Liara made her move. She approached Mary slowly, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. Mary didn't seem to notice her approach, lost in her own world of grief.
"It's a cruel irony, isn't it?" Liara said, her voice low, almost lost in the wind.
Mary flinched, as if startled by a phantom. She turned slowly, those familiar green eyes – Shepard's eyes – widening in recognition.
"You..." she whispered, her voice hoarse, as if she hadn't used it in days.
"He saved the galaxy," Liara continued, ignoring the woman's unspoken question. "Faced down Reapers, Death, Collectors, impossible odds, and emerged a hero. But he couldn't escape the gravity of this planet. He loved earth even though this place was where he suffered and survived a harsh childhood."
Mary's gaze dropped to the ground, her shoulders slumping further. "I… I heard about what happened," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "The Crucible… It's all over the newsfeeds."
"Yes," Liara said, her voice sharp with unshed tears. "The galaxy mourns a hero. A hero who never knew…"
She stopped, her words catching in her throat. How could she say it? How could she shatter the fragile illusion of closure this woman seemed to cling to?
"Never knew what?" Mary asked, her voice trembling.
Liara took a deep breath, the air thick and heavy in her lungs. "He never knew his mother cared," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Mary's head snapped up, her eyes widening in alarm. "What are you talking about?" she stammered, her gaze darting around as if seeking an escape.
Liara stepped closer, her shadow falling over the woman like a shroud. "Don't play coy with me," she hissed, her voice laced with biotic static. "I know who you are, Mary. I know what you did."
Mary stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a scream. But no sound escaped her lips, only a choked gasp. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and recognition, darted between Liara and the fallen Citadel, a silent plea for escape.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "You've got it wrong. I don't..."
"Don't lie to me," Liara cut her off, her voice cold and sharp. The years of carefully cultivated control, the diplomat's mask she wore as confidently as a second skin, shattered under the weight of her grief and anger. "I know you left him. Left him at an orphanage, abandoned by the one person who should have protected him."
The color drained from Mary's face, leaving her skin ashen gray. She looked as if Liara had struck her, her body swaying precariously. For a fleeting moment, Liara felt a pang of guilt, a flicker of sympathy for the woman's obvious distress.
But it was quickly extinguished by the memory of Shepard's face, etched with pain and a lifetime of carefully concealed vulnerability. The years of watching him build walls around his heart, pushing away anyone who dared to get too close, all stemming from this... this act of betrayal.
"It wasn't like that," Mary stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "It was… complicated."
"Complicated?" Liara scoffed, her anger rising. "Abandoning your child is not complicated. It's unforgivable."
"You don't understand," Mary pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. "I was young, alone. His father… he wanted nothing to do with us. My family, we had nothing. I thought… I thought leaving him at the orphanage was the best thing, the only thing I could do. Give him a chance at a life I couldn't provide."
Liara stared at her, the woman's words a tangled mess of justifications and regret. She had expected anger, defiance, even denial. But this… this broken, desperate plea for understanding…
It unsettled her.
"He never spoke about you," Liara said, her voice softening slightly. Not out of sympathy, but a strange, morbid curiosity. "Not once in all the years I knew him."
Mary's shoulders slumped further, her gaze dropping to the ground. "He wouldn't remember me," she whispered, a single tear tracing a path through the dust on her cheek. "He was just a baby."
"And yet," Liara pressed, her voice hardening again, "you knew who he was. You followed his career, from those early missions against batarian pirates to… to the very end."
Mary didn't even bother denying it. She simply nodded, her shame almost palpable.
"Why?" Liara asked, the question a strangled whisper. "Why come here now? After all this time? After he's… gone?"
Mary looked up then, her eyes, red-rimmed and filled with a lifetime of unshed tears, meeting Liara's.
"Because," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. "Because he was my son. And I… I never got the chance to tell him… to tell him I was sorry."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with a grief that transcended species and time. Liara stared at the woman, at the raw, unfiltered sorrow etched on her face, and felt a coldness spread through her veins. It wasn't sympathy, not anymore. It was a chilling echo of Shepard's own pain, a pain he'd carried for years, buried beneath layers of stoicism and battlefield bravado.
"Sorry?" Liara's voice was a whisper, sharp as a shard of glass. "You think 'sorry' is enough? After everything he went through? After the life you condemned him to?"
Mary flinched as if struck, her hand instinctively going to her stomach. "I know," she choked out, her voice ragged. "I know I don't deserve… I just wanted to see him. One last time."
"You could have seen him," Liara spat, her control snapping, biotics crackling around her fingertips. "You could have been a part of his life if you'd had the courage to face what you did. But you chose to abandon him. Chose to watch from the sidelines while he fought his demons, while he put his life on the line for a galaxy and the alliance."
Mary crumpled, her knees hitting the ground with a dull thud. "Don't," she whispered, burying her face in her hands. "Please, I can't…"
"Can't what?" Liara pressed, her voice laced with a venom she hadn't known she possessed. "Can't bear to hear the truth? The truth about the consequences of your actions? He lived his life haunted by your absence, by the weight of your rejection. Do you know what that does to a person? To a child?"
"He deserved better," Liara whispered, the words a lament for a love unrequited, a life cut tragically short. "He deserved a mother who loved him, who fought for him, who was there for him. Not someone who…"
Liara trailed off, unable to continue. What was the point? Words were hollow, meaningless in the face of such profound loss. Shepard was gone, and nothing, not even the most heartfelt apology, could bring him back.
She turned away from Mary, her shoulders slumped with a grief that threatened to consume her. The fallen Citadel loomed large in her vision, a monument to victory and loss, a stark reminder that even heroes weren't immune to the ravages of fate. Or the consequences of a mother's betrayal.
Mary watched Liara's retreating back, her words, sharp as shards of ice, still ringing in her ears. Shame, hot and suffocating, coiled in her gut, a familiar ache she'd carried for years, buried beneath layers of regret and self-loathing.
She deserved Liara's anger. Deserved every harsh word, every accusation flung at her like stones. She'd known, even as she'd handed baby John over to the stern-faced woman at the orphanage, that a part of her would forever be broken.
But what the Asari didn't understand, couldn't understand, was that leaving him had been its own kind of torture.
"You think I didn't want to know him?" Mary choked out, the words ripped from her throat by a pain that transcended language. "My son… my John."
Liara paused, her back stiff with tension, but she didn't turn around.
"I knew him," Mary whispered, her voice breaking. "The moment I saw his face… those eyes… I knew."
She remembered it clearly. A grainy news report playing on the flickering screen of a dingy bar she'd been cleaning. Something about a hero, a young Alliance officer who'd faced down batarian slavers. The details were irrelevant. It was his eyes that drew her in, those emerald green eyes, a mirror reflecting a past she'd tried desperately to outrun.
She'd known, deep in her bones, that it was him. Her John.
From that moment on, she'd followed his every move, devouring every news report, every grainy video feed, every whispered rumor about the human Spectre who was taking the Terminus Systems by storm.
His near-death experience during the Battle of the Citadel. His relentless pursuit of Saren and Sovereign. The impossible victory against the Collectors. Each triumph, each close call, was a fresh wave of pride and agony washing over her, a constant reminder of the life she'd denied herself, the bond she'd shattered with her own hands.
"I followed every mission," Mary continued, her voice raw with unshed tears. "Celebrated every victory as if… as if I had the right. Wept every time he was hurt, every time he… died and came back. It was torture, a constant ache in my heart, knowing he was out there, a hero, a legend… and I was nothing but a ghost in the shadows."
She wanted to tell Liara about the nights she spent huddled in her tiny apartment, staring at his image on the screen, memorizing every line on his face, every scar that told a story of courage and sacrifice.
She wanted to tell her about the overwhelming urge to reach out, to contact him, to explain, to beg for forgiveness. But the fear, the shame, the crushing weight of her own unworthiness, held her back.
"I loved him," Mary whispered, the confession wrenched from the deepest part of her soul. "Even when I didn't deserve to. Even when I had no right. And now… now it's too late. He's gone, and I never got the chance… just one chance… to tell him I was sorry. To touch his face, to hear him call me mom…"
She trailed off, her voice dissolving into broken sobs. The weight of her loss, the knowledge that she'd forever bear the burden of her choice, pressed down on her, suffocating her. She didn't deserve Liara's forgiveness, didn't deserve the comfort of shared grief.
All she deserved was this… this hollow ache in her chest where a mother's love should have bloomed.
For a long moment, Liara simply stood there, her back to the woman, a storm of emotions raging within her. The raw grief in Mary's voice, the depth of her remorse, resonated with a painful familiarity. It tugged at something deep within Liara, a memory of her own struggles, her own journey through anger and acceptance.
She thought of Shepard, of his unwavering belief in redemption, in the power of second chances. He'd seen good in the darkest corners of the galaxy, had extended a hand to those others had deemed beyond saving. He'd even forgiven her, when she'd been lost in the throes of her vendetta against the Shadow Broker, consumed by a rage that nearly destroyed her.
He'd been firm, yes, but fair. Always willing to see the shades of grey in every situation, to offer an opportunity for atonement.
Could she do any less?
Liara turned, her expression softening, a flicker of something akin to empathy replacing the icy anger in her blue eyes. She looked at Mary, kneeling on the ground, her shoulders shaking with sobs, and saw not a monster, but a woman broken by regret, haunted by the consequences of her actions.
Shepard wouldn't have judged her so harshly, Liara realized. He wouldn't have reveled in her pain. He would have listened, truly listened, with that quiet intensity that drew others to him, and he would have offered a path forward, however difficult it may be.
Taking a deep breath, Liara extended her hand towards the grieving woman.
"Come with me," she said, her voice softer now, the edge of accusation replaced by a weary understanding.
Mary looked up, her face streaked with tears, her eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and cautious hope. She didn't speak, but the way she grasped Liara's hand, her grip surprisingly strong, spoke volumes.
Liara helped her to her feet, a silent understanding passing between them, a shared grief that transcended words and accusations. Together, they walked away from the fallen Citadel, from the weight of expectations and unspoken recriminations, towards a place of quiet mourning, of shared memories, and perhaps, if they were both brave enough to face it, a path towards forgiveness.
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