A/N: Hello, and welcome to my AU ME fanfic!

For those of you familiar with my Dark Energy series, this is a 'what if' take on my Del Shepard and Liara T'Soni. Normally I do not indulge in blatant AU fics, but I decided to make an exception in this case, to fill the time before DE5 begins.

This AU fic takes place in the ME verse (using the same tech, species, organizations, locations, etc), however events will be drastically different. There is no Saren, no Prothean beacons, no Reaper threat. The adventure will not follow any of the ME canon storylines but rather be a storyline of my own creation, so expect something completely new.

In this story, I ask these questions: What if Del Shepard had good, decent parents who cared for her and provided her with a stable environment and education growing up? No Room, no living in vents, no arrest record, no gangs, no PTSD, no Alliance? What would happen if it were Shepard who was the shy scientist, and not Liara?

And what if Liara had not had the upbringing that she had? What if Benezia had abandoned her daughter, and it was Aethyta who had raised her? What if she became a commando rather than an archaeologist?

And if these things happened, would Liara and Del still fall in love and share the same bond that so united them during the events of the DE series?

This is all for fun. Some of my OCs may appear as well as familiar canon characters. There may be new OCs. It may be about as long as DE4 but will be nowhere near as long as DE2 or 3. Feedback is always welcome, negative as well as positive!

Finally, this story is dedicated to Bladhaire, the love of my life and my biggest inspiration. If you have not or are not reading Caduceus yet…go! Read! Before I send my flying monkeys after you!

With no further ado, I shall step back and let the story unfold. Enjoy!

Dark Energy AU: Best Left Said

Night had fallen, and the sky above Virmire was infected with stars, a smear of gems set on black velvet so brilliant that in places the glow simply blended together in a rainbow of nebulous colors.

Within an elegantly appointed house, a finger touched a holographic display, making a selection with almost an idle flick. As music filled the room, she shed her jacket, tugging the tie out of her hair. Falls of ebony black tumbled down, and she ruffled them idly as she headed toward the drink service.

"Evan, play messages would you?"

There was a faint pop as the cork came out of a crystal decanter, the brandy within flowing into a goblet as she lightly stretched her shoulders, trying to relax. Setting the decanter aside, she picked up the glass, then frowned as her messages had not begun to play.

"Evan?"

The silence remained unbroken, save by the light strains of Vimaretto. Her VI assistant remained absent.

Taking a swallow of the brandy she sighed in frustration, walking back toward her console. Her VI was normally incredibly reliable but every so often he simply randomly powered off and needed a full reboot. She would have complained to the manufacturer but it was rare enough to not really be a nuisance, and she was somewhat fond of Evan, even with his quirks.

Brushing the music queue aside with her hand, she drew up Evan's reboot protocols…or tried to, anyway. Touching the icon resulted in nothing. Her brow creased a bit as the icon itself suddenly vanished, along with the others on her main display. The music slowed and then cut off, her computer systems going dark.

"What in the world-"

Creak.

Straightening, her eyes went wide, her stomach tightening. With the computers down the security systems would also be down. Though the house was new and thoroughly modern in most ways, she'd had it built of local wood instead of relying on a plastic or steel prefab. Prefabs had always seemed so cold and impersonal to her, no matter how they were decorated. Stick-built structure, by contrast, had personality, a life of their own, in a way.

Part of that life consisted of the same little quirks and idiosyncrasies that endeared Evan to her…including floorboards that creaked.

This particular creak she pinpointed immediately. There was a section of the back hall near the kitchen that always groaned if it was stepped on just right. Over the last five years she had learned to avoid it and unconsciously stepped around it every time she passed, but guests never failed to trigger it.

There was someone in the back hall.

Leaning back against her desk, her dark eyes wide, she slipped a hand under the edge and drew out her small pistol, trying to stay calm and think.

This is no ordinary intruder or burglar. Only a top-line hacker could get past the security systems, and top-line hackers like that aren't cheap.

Someone hoping for a stiff ransom from her parents, perhaps? It was all she could think of. Robbery would net them a few collectibles but nothing worth the amount they'd have had to spend on the hacker. Unless it was just the hacker, working on his own perhaps?

She was not idle as she considered this. Gripping the butt of the small pistol tightly, she edged back further into the living room, away from the back hall and toward the foyer. The shadows away from the main windows would help hide her, and if they were coming in the back, she most certainly wanted to go out the front.

Then the world lit up.

The great bay windows facing her garden were of bullet-proof glass, polarized to dim and brighten at certain times of the day, or on command. The wall of fire that surged through them nevertheless shattered them like fine crystal. She cried out, her shoulder dropping against the wall as she crouched, arms wound around her head to shield it from the torrent of flame and glass and wood that had replaced her living room. Something smashed on the wall just over her head, wet falling on her hair. She stared, dumbstruck, at the flowers littered in front of her and realized it had been her vase.

Her ears were ringing madly as she stared at the inferno now raging only a dozen yards away from her. Black smoke was drifting in like fog, and with the house computer system offline, fire suppression would not turn on.

A thousand people in the colony would have heard that explosion. Rescue services will be on their way.

Two small roses of orange and white bloomed down the hall. Plaster snapped out of the wall in front of her face and she surged backward, tripping over her own feet and falling down hard. Though she could hear nothing but ringing and the waterfall roar of flames, she felt the sharp, stiff breeze that swept past her face as a bullet sang far too close.

She could see nothing of the shooter but a dim outline in the distance. Rolling, lost in sheer panic, she fired her tiny pistol wildly at the hall as she bolted for the front door. Tearing it open, she ducked and cried out again as the wooden edge of it vanished in great, splintered bites.

She darted outside.

After the horrible heat of the house, the cool of the night slapped her like ice water. Ahead of her, a mile distant, was the edge of the main colony. She could see the lights in the dark. To her right, the ground rose and broke into rocky crags past her walled garden. That was the side of the house the exploded windows had faced, and from the look of it, most of the garden was afire as well. To the left, it was fifty feet to the cliff-face, and a hundred foot drop into the sea.

She ran toward the colony, the only real direction afforded her. She'd barely gone four steps, however, when she saw shifting figures between her and the lights and realized there were people there, shrouded in night. Her heart about stopped, and she twisted to change direction as they caught sight of her. There was just enough light from the fire consuming her house to reflect off their body armor, to illuminate the guns that swung her direction.

Hollow booms filled her ears, and while most were clearly coming from the weapons now just behind her, it sounded oddly like some were echoing from the back of the house as well. With every breath she expected bullets to tear into her, yet somehow she made it to the side of the house in one piece, her heart thundering.

Again, a figure loomed in front of her with unexpected speed. She nearly collided with a form in armor the size of a small wall. An enclosed helmet grimaced down at her, its pair of reflective, binocular panels forming giant, ghostly eyes. A hand as hard as steel clamped on her arm, and the pain that blossomed up her arm as the fingers dug in toward bone was enough to steal her breath. Frantically, she jabbed the pistol toward the merc and pulled the trigger. The bullets sparked against his pads, too low caliber to even dent them, but the sudden gunfire seemed to startle him. The moment his fingers loosened she tore away from him and bolted.

Something else exploded. To her sound-startled ears, she heard it only as a dull whump, feeling heat rising behind her and lifting her right off her feet. For a moment, time seemed to suspend, holding her frozen in an instant that stretched without measure, pulling like warm taffy.

She could see the grass two or three feet beneath her, the green blending into a strange rainbow of light that shimmered red, and gold, yellow…and oddly, blue. Beyond the grass was impenetrable black, carved in a ragged line and eating up the rest of existence.

Why does the grass just end? she thought, and then realized.

The cliff. In her confusion and desperation to escape the man who had grabbed her, she'd run in completely the wrong direction- right toward the cliff.

Then time resumed and she hit the ground with tremendous force. Her air evacuated her lungs, her right arm seeming to be grabbed by the earth and torn to the side, yanking her in to a roll. Pain lashed at her from a dozen different quarters.

Then, her stomach dropped, and her hands grabbed out frantically as she crossed the line where the world ended.

Grass tore through her fingers and vanished. She grabbed again, feeling dirt and rock lash at her hands, scraping rough over her cheek. Everything she gripped crumbled and disintegrated. Her chin smacked something hard, her arms finding solid stone, and she halted, the muscles in her arms singing with pain as they latched onto her hold with desperation. Her feet were dangling over open air.

Above her, she could still hear the rattle of gunfire, voices shouting. Shaking, every ounce of her energy going in to maintaining her grip, she edged her eyes upward. The ledge of the cliff was a mess of torn up ground easily five feet above her. It was etched in the orange firelight, and in occasional washes of blue.

Then a cry of pain, and a form dressed in armor kicked out over open air just a couple of feet to her right. Flailing, the merc fell past her. Her wide, dark eyes followed his path as he tumbled end over end a hundred feet down, finally crashing against the rocks and churning waves.

Her arms were shaking madly now, her bleeding and aching fingers slipping on their hold. She carefully tried to shift her legs, to reach the cliff wall and brace herself, but the motion only pulled the large rock she was clinging to away from the wall, sending a rain of dirt down onto her face. She went as still as possible, holding her breath. Her arms and hands cramped as she clamped down tighter, afraid the slightest motion would tear the rock free completely and send her to her death.

Then more dirt. This time, it wasn't her motion that caused it, and trembling, she risked a look upward. Someone was lying down on the grass, a hand extending toward her.

"Hang on!"

The hand was wreathed in blue flame, and a moment later she felt a strange surge prickling over her skin, a static rush that lifted every hair. Her stomach lurched again and for a breath she was weightless, lifting upward and away from the cliff wall. The moment the outstretched hand was in reach, she grabbed hold of it. A heartbeat later, she was on the grass, safe, gasping relief filling her.

"Take it easy-"

A hand landed on her back and she weakly slapped it away, scrambling back from the cliff and the figure squatting there beside her. Spotting her small pistol laying nearby, she snatched it up and turned into a sit, aiming it. Her arms were shaking so badly that the muzzle was dancing erratically. An implacable helmet face mask regarded her.

"Don't…don't touch me!"

Her rescuer didn't rise, remaining in a crouch. When hands lifted slightly, palms outward, the gesture seemed amused, almost sarcastic.

"I am not going to hurt you. Put the pistol down."

"I-If you move, I'll shoot you," she said, and internally winced. How pathetic can you be? You can't even hold the gun steady!

"If you did, a bullet of that caliber would not even make it past my barriers, let alone through my pads," was the calm reply. "Please, Doctor-"

Something big and heavy sailed in from above, the helmet tilted upward to see the cause of the shadow as the air again bloomed with gunfire. Pain surged through her aching chest as her rescuer tackled her to the ground, knocking her out of the way of a torrent of bullets and then yanking her to her feet.

"Run!"

She had lost her pistol again, and her breathing felt like thin lances of fire moving down her throat, coiling into hot weights in her chest. Her rescuer had a hand clamped on her arm, pulling her along as they ran along the cliff. A gauzy curtain of blue light swirled around them.

Biotics. She's a biotic, she realized, and part of her wanted to laugh. The rest of her gaped back over her shoulder at the low shuttle that sailed in at them again, spitting bullets that deflected harmlessly off the barrier just inches away.

They were running toward the back of the house, and near the ridge she could see another ship waiting, small and wicked and gleaming silver. As the passed the flaming house, another figure in dark armor suddenly darted in from the side, lifting a rifle.

She recoiled with a startled sound, but her rescuer seemed unconcerned, rushing right past them. In turn, the figure aimed the rifle at the shuttle, letting off three shots that sounded like someone slapping a heavy book sharply on a table.

The shuttle broke off, heading out over the sea, smoke and spits of fire licking along its side. She stared after it, her steps faltering, until a sharp tug on her arm hurried her forward once again.

The second figure turned and joined them, flanking them as they reached the ramp of the ship. The moment her feet hit flat metal, she stumbled again. Her rescuer released the hold on her arm, turning toward the ramp and pulling out a pistol as the second figure hurried up. Then, a third armored form ran up after them, peeling off a helmet and turning back, rifle to shoulder as the ship started to lift off. All three started to fire into the night.

This last figure was a woman, same as her rescuer- with long dark hair bound back from her face. Her armor was dark blue, and the white insignia of the Alliance gleamed on one scuffed shoulder plate.

The one who had shot at the shuttle was also wearing Alliance armor, identical to the first- but her rescuer was not. Her pads were gray and blue, somehow a bit more lithe than the soldiers' hard-suits but still heavy and tough.

She had dropped into a sit the moment her rescuer had released her, struggling to find air as she stared at the trio. She was panting with adrenaline but each draw of air into her lungs still felt thin and lit with flame.

Beyond the door, she could see her house as they lifted off, now nothing more than a churning inferno.

Then the door was shut, and they were lowering their weapons. Her rescuer also peeled off her helmet, revealing damp blue skin, an alien crest.

Asari. She's asari, she thought distantly. It was getting harder and harder to breathe and she felt light-headed. The room seemed to be tilting slightly, slowly and drunkenly leaning to the side.

The asari touched something at her collar, some sort of radio connection, looking slightly upward as she spoke. "Get us to the Citadel. Treat any pursuit as extremely hostile and take them out."

{Yes, ma'am. Heading toward the relay now.}

The second figure, the one who had shot the shuttle, had now also shed her helmet. Her dark hair was short, utilitarian. Like the first woman, she was human.

Of course she's human, she's Alliance, she thought distantly.

Casting her helmet aside, the asari strode over, crouching down and reaching out a hand. She recoiled from it, swatting at it feebly. It had no more effect than if she'd tried to brush away an iron pillar.

"You are safe now," the asari said. She had eyes the color of the sky, and as they seemed to waver and grow larger, they filled with concern. "Doctor?"

The marine with the long hair was holding her ear, speaking urgently to someone. She, too, was saying doctor…doctor. The one with the short hair was looming over the asari's shoulder, her face damp with sweat and her brows knit tight.

Who are you people? she meant to ask- no, demand. What do you want with me? What did you do to my house?

Instead the eyes seemed only to grow larger still, as her breath became shorter. A crushing weight had settled on her chest and was still settling, cutting away what air she could get.

I can't breathe. I can't breathe…

"Breathe…" was the only word she managed, before she slumped backward. She vaguely felt a hand catch behind her neck. Those blue eyes filled up the entire galaxy.

"Doctor!"

Dark came sweeping in, carrying her away from knowing in warm arms, drawing away sight, sensation, sound.

"Doctor Shepard…"

Silence consumed her, and dragged her off.

The Aswa was not a large ship, intended to only be maintained by a four person crew- and she had an even smaller infirmary. She had not originally been designed for long hauls, meant to berth with a cruiser or a heavy, and as a result, she boasted a single bio-bed and medical equipment specialized more toward stabilizing a patient until they could be brought to a proper sickbay or medical facility, than actually treating them.

Her sole doctor, however, made up for the design short-comings with talent and a knack for improvisation. Brushing her iron gray hair aside, she bent over the unconscious Dr. Shepard a final time, listening to her chest with an old-fashioned stethoscope whilst simultaneously eyeing the bio-bed's scan readout.

"She's stable," she said at last, straightening and looking toward the asari looming in her doorway. "Two broken ribs were putting pressure on her lungs. She also has a fractured sternum. They caused inflammation but thankfully did not puncture though. Between the swelling and her hyperventilation…"

"Any other injuries?"

"Sprained wrist and shoulder. Several contusions and nasty scrapes. Mild concussion but nothing to fret over. Even without a proper hospital she'll wake up in an hour or two and heal well enough. That said, we probably want to bring her in to Huerta just to be on the safe side."

She glanced over at the asari, who was regarding the unconscious doctor with a troubled, brooding expression.

"You all right, Liara?"

"Had we been even a minute later, they would have taken her out."

"It wouldn't have been your fault."

"That would have been small comfort to the three hundred souls on Purdue…and the millions who could follow."

"Liara-"

The asari straightened. "Keep me updated on her condition. I'll have Jura notify the Council that we have her, and will be escorting her directly to Huerta the moment we dock."

"Of course."

She turned and headed down the narrow corridor toward the armory, where the cousins were waiting.

The older of the two, Ashley Williams had shed her hard-suit and sat on one of the benches, looking over and cleaning her rifle. She kept her weapons meticulous as a rule, but Liara could see the busywork in her actions. She was only distracting herself, and the solemn expression in her dark eyes proved it.

The younger of the cousins, Samantha Feris, was still in most of her hard-suit, sitting on the opposing bench and gripping her gloves in one hand as she looked intently at Ash. The family resemblance between the two was unmistakable. Both had the same shade of dark hair, though Ash kept hers long and Sam cut hers short. Sam was paler than Ashley, but both had the same brown eyes. More often than not, they were mistaken for sisters instead of cousins…at least, until they spoke.

Ashley spoke galactic with the most common human accent- American-English. She'd grown up in a town in Ohio, in the United States. Sam, conversely, had grown up half a world away, raised just north of Sydney in Australia, and her galactic accent reflected her upbringing.

Another similarity they shared was the very reason they were aboard the Aswa and under Liara's command at the moment. Both were candidates to become the first human Spectre in galactic history.

Along with two other nominees- who were under Jondum Bau's purview at the moment- the cousins had been selected by Alliance Brass and the Citadel Council to undergo an observational period, assigned to Liara to assist in missions and be evaluated for their skill and efficacy. In the end, only a single candidate - if any- would be elected to join the Special Tactics and Recon. The others would return to their Alliance posts.

Not that there was any shame in it if they were not selected. All the candidates were highly decorated N7 special forces commanders. Just being put into this evaluation stage said everything about their skills and accomplishments, and thus far the two cousins had more than lived up to their reputations.

Sam had clearly been either berating her cousin or attempting to convince her of something, when Liara stepped in. Given what she knew of the woman, she doubted it was berating. Sam was the more reserved and soft-spoken of the two, and scolding was not her speed.

When she saw Liara, Sam's mouth snapped shut and she got to her feet. Ashley looked up at the motion, setting her rifle on the bench beside her and also rising.

"How is she?" Ash asked.

"She is stable. Some cracked ribs, scrapes and bruises. Helen thinks she will be fine in a couple of days, but we are delivering her to Huerta when we arrive at the Citadel, just in case."

Ashley let out a breath of relief. "When I saw her go over that cliff-"

"Yes. The mercs were very liberal with their rocket launchers. They were determined to take her out of the picture, even at risk of their own lives. All the more reason to keep her safe and well-guarded."

"Do you think she can stop what's happening on Purdue?" Sam asked. "Keep it from spreading?"

"From the intelligence we have received, she is the best hope we have to do so."

"Orthrus seems to think so as well, or they wouldn't have been so hard-up on taking her out," Ashley said.

"Well, we have her now," Liara said firmly. "If Osco thinks she is going to eliminate her now she will find it is far easier said than done. We will be docking with the Citadel within the hour. The Council will no doubt send a contingent of C-Sec to meet us but we do not leave her side until she is secure in Huerta. Even then, I want one of us with her at all times, understood?"

The cousins murmured their agreement, and Liara nodded seriously. "Right now, Dr. Shepard is the most precious commodity in this galaxy. We lose her….and we may just lose everything."