Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me.

"We cried and sobbed and wept and bled tears. But when we were finished, all we could do was continue living."

-Nnedi Okorafor

Death I Think Is No Parenthesis

The piercing scream rips through the heavy percussion of bullets and gunfire.

A momentary pause halts the cacophonous skirmish. Javik mumbles something you don't catch over the ringing in your head. Shepard rolls her shoulders sweeping her eyes over the terrain before ducking under cover. The crackle of the atmosphere tearing as someone flies through it at a subatomic level is unmistakable.

And suddenly, she's there. Twisted. Powerful. Grotesque. Her enslaved mind and body a gauche mockery of all asari beauty and refinement.

Time stretches as adrenaline heightens your senses. Your world narrows. Distantly you hear Shepard switch weapons. The shot she pops off is inordinately loud; it bounces ineffectually off the barriers of the oncoming Banshee. A cold sweat breaks out on your brow. You feel the chill of dead spectral fingers press across your mind. A visceral shiver overtakes your body.

You feel lightheaded; you're about to faint. Nausea turns your stomach and you can't suppress the violent emptying of the meager meal you ate several hours prior to spill onto the bloodstained ground. Your legs don't want to hold you, but you sway upright unable to look away from the terrible figure before you. Your chest burns, reminding you to breath.

Javik yells at you to make yourself useful, his voice rough and urgent. He's barely holding back a Ravager raining down acidic artillery as a wave of husks rushes your position. Shepard is too busy laying down protective covering fire for her to say anything. You're standing immobile and unprotected in the middle of a battlefield staring into the face of a ghost.

"Mother." It's no more than an exhalation. No, no, no, no, your mind screams in an unending loop. Noveria looms tall and impenetrable in your memory. You see the regal figure that was your mother crumble under a thing so tiny as a bullet- a bullet put in her side by your shaky hand. The ever present pain of her ultimate demise lacerates your heart. Little Wing bounces through your mind in the voice you remember from your childhood. You force the image away. You don't think about her final endearment. And, you don't think of her inability to find peace in her last moments.

Your gaze takes in the monster before you in awed disbelief. You buried Benezia years ago near your childhood home. The body moving jaggedly toward you is covered under several feet of Thessian dirt several hundred miles. It's impossible that she's your mother.

Black eyes lock on you. The desperate push of her powerful mind obliterates several guards you have carefully constructed around psyche. You feel cold enter your mind. It makes you numb and weak. But, you also feel the creature's tortured hollowness.

A terrible wail fills your head. It beats against your temples and pushes against your eyelids. It closes your throat and pushes cold electricity down your spine. You belatedly hear someone scream to/i get the hell downi. The condensed singularity that shreds through your barrier and shield hits you in the chest near full force. You're flung through the air like a ragdoll. The crushing pain of the blow doesn't register until you try to stand.

The pain of your knees slamming into the hard dirt is nothing in comparison the shocking anguish shooting from your upper torso. The left side of your armor is crushed into your ribs. You're certain at least one is broken when blood gushes out of your mouth. Your lungs feel like they're on fire suspended in the jagged cage of your chest. The nanites in your armor rush to alleviate the worst of the damage. You feel the instant relief of medigel flooding your system, but the sharp pain doesn't abate. You grit your teeth and stand.

You teeter on your feet but stay upright. Javik and Shepard have dealt with the Ravager and husks but the Banshee moves like a demon. You try to immobilize the monster that looks like your mother in a stasis bubble but the filtered memories and the screaming in your head doesn't let you concentrate. All you manage to do is slow her down. The effort seems enough for you squad mates; they unleash a flurry of gunfire on her.

Javik aims to bring the Banshee down. His bullets center on her head; he slowly picks away at her powerful barrier. He only needs one good shot. Shepard, though, aims to incapacitate. You love her for that. She understands. She's always understood.

The barrier protecting the Banshee finally deteriorates under the constant gunfire. Javik releases a heavy energy wave that makes the specter of Benezia stumble. Your heart lurches uneasily. You're not sure you're ready to see this again.

A mangled cry of pain and anger pierces the atmosphere. Black blood pours out of a hole in the Banshee's right thigh. She turns to Shepard in a rage and tears through the air in the blink of an eye. Her long, dead fingers curl around Shepard's neck as she lifts the human effortlessly off the ground and strangles the life out of her.

And just like that, any choice to a different outcome is taken away from you. Shepard's life is on the line. You have no choice. You raise your arm. The Paladin grows heavy in your hand. You take careful aim. Your world narrows.

You breathe in.

Benezia in a beautiful, flowing, yellow dress dances across your mind. Her warm smile reserved for only you shines through the memory. My Little Wing, I love you.

You shoot to kill. Two bullets to the head in quick succession.

You breathe out.

The Banshee releases Shepard ungracefully before screeching a pain-laced, gut-wrenching wail as all her biotic energy becomes unstable and consumes her bodily.

Complete silence momentarily overtakes the scene. You want to weep right there in a desolate battlefield for your mother's broken, desecrated body until there's nothing left of the grief, anger, and helplessness you feel bottled up inside you. But you don't. You don't even look at the spot where one of the most important people in your entire world disappeared into nothing. You can't. There's nothing you can do for her now. Not even put her body to rest.

Javik is blessedly quiet as you help Shepard to her feet. She tries to meet your eyes, but you can't look at her yet. She's alive and that's more important to you than anything.

But, you've paid an exorbitant price for Shepard's continued existence.

You've killed your mother twice. And, Thessia burns to ashes around you.

You wake -sweat slicked and short of breath- struggling against the sheets. They're twisted around your body, tightening with each move of you make. A deep breath starts calming your racing heart. You realize you're alone as you push yourself to a seated position. You heave a sigh more relieved than disappointed that Shepard wasn't present to witness you in the throes of another nightmare. Your hand automatically goes to the back of your neck to ineffectually rub at the ever present tension.

Stripping Shepard's shirt off your body, you stand and move determinedly to the shower. You wish the water could wash away the incessant images plaguing your mind. They come to you unbidden and unwanted in the dark where you can't hide your addled thoughts from the press of nightmarish memory.

You automatically stiffen at the feel or arms wrapping around you. Your biotics flare in your momentary panic.

"Hey," her face presses to the side of your head, "it's just me." Her voice is soft like it always is when she's soothing you.

Shepard. You tilt your head back into her shoulder. You wish you both could have met under a different set of circumstances. You wish that blood and war weren't the building blocks of your world.

"Are you all right, Liara?" She kisses your temple gently. "You've been in here a long time."

You sigh. You don't want to be more of a burden than you've already been. She was there after your fight with Javik. She heard all your complaints of your mother and your burning world and your tragedy. Guilt washes over you. You can't believe how callous you were in your remarks. You couldn't have been more insensitive to the woman holding you. She had lived through everything you were crying to her about for far longer than you, and her aplomb made you ashamed at your emotional diatribe.

"I'm fine." You slip out of her arms and turn off the water. She catches your arm before you can walk out of the small bathroom. You look at her unsure of her confused perusal. Before you can say anything, she grabs a towel and starts drying you off.

"Another nightmare?" The question is most certainly rhetorical, but her voice is soft and lyrical. It lulls you. "Turn." She dries your back.

She gently pushes you out of the bathroom and leads you the drawer that holds her clothes. She digs up another shirt handing it to you as she grabs one for herself. You pull the cotton shirt over your head feeling the snug restriction across your chest—Shepard isn't as well-endowed as you are. Her head pops through the top of her shirt and she looks tousled and adorable. She smiles and you forget yourself.

You kiss her before you realize you've moved. Shepard clutches you to herself. Her desire is immediate. You haven't let her touch you in days. And, it's been weeks since either of you have had enough time or privacy to find a moment alone. You feel every single day of that time and it makes you desperate with want. With need.

You pull Shepard's shirt off as you back her toward the bed that dominates the room. You push her onto the mattress and she lands sprawled, already panting. She's so wet you can see her arousal glistening between her thighs clinging to the triangle of course hair. Your mouth waters; she smells delicious. You strip her shirt off your body and move on top of her. The touch of skin on skin is electric. You both moan as you slide over her and cover her mouth with your own.

The kiss is deep and hungry; full of the desire you've ignored for days; full of the absolution you've denied yourself. Shepard's hands scratch down your back to take purchase on the swell of your backside. She kneads your buttocks while positioning her strong leg between your thighs and by default putting yours between her thighs as well. Her wetness coats your skin. You shudder against her, already so close to the edge.

You undulate your hips and swallow her excited moan. You set a hard and fast rhythm. You tumble with her toward ecstasy and are teetering over the edge before you're aware you're that close. Shepard is grunting softly, squeezing you closer, teeth biting down on your shoulder. You feel the coiling of pressure in your abdomen and you grind into her with more force needing to reach release and absolution.

You hesitate joining your minds. You're not sure you should open your psyche to her right now with all the weight of your nightmares. You feel her lose your rhythm and you know she's close. You can feel it all over her skin, bouncing off into you. You've never withheld from melding with Shepard when you've been intimate; the desire to join your minds is almost irresistible, but you refrain.

You're so close you're shaking. And then, you feel her mind reach out to yours, seeking to meld. Distantly, you wonder how Shepard is able to reach out with her mind. She shouldn't have that ability. You momentarily wonder if she's a step up on the human evolutionary ladder. She pushes harder against your mind and body and it's impossible to resist the pull of the woman beneath you. You fall into her completely. She surges up to you. You both lock in shared bliss; your minds and bodies entwined.

You come and come and come, reaching your absolution in her arms. You shudder against her and fall apart. You cry anguished sobs into her neck, holding on to her with all your strength. You release your grief and anger and helplessness and hold onto her.

Shepard cradles you and allows you to cry. She doesn't speak; she simply holds you. She's simply there for you.

When you can cry no more tears, you just breathe and hold to Shepard. You feel her breathing roughly beneath you and you know she's fighting to keep her composure and comfort you.

Shepard readjusts you gently, pulling the covers over the chill that will soon overtake your heated bodies. You move with her refusing to let her go. She kisses your forehead and holds you tightly.

"I'm afraid I'll never see my mother again," Shepard's voice shakes as she confides in you. "I'm afraid I won't be enough to stop the Reapers." She takes a shuddering breath and you feel the hot wetness of tears against your skin. "I'm afraid of how many more people I'm going to lose…I've already lost so many."

You pull Shepard impossibly closer. She's gifting you with a precious treasure: her absolute trust. She's telling you that you're strong enough to help her carry her nightmares…just as she's strong enough to carry yours.

You love her more in that moment than you ever thought possible. Individually you may not be strong enough to carry on, but together you know you'll see this war through.

In the end, you must continue living.