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“Must you play it every time, Shepard?”
Shaking her head, Shepard moved from the sound system to where Liara was waiting with her arms crossed and an amused expression on her face. She extended a hand to her as she laughed, “It’s an old Earth classic!”
“I have heard your classical music, this is not it.” Shepard could never tell if she was joking, but she gave a lopsided smile all the same.
“Not classical, classic,” corrected Shepard, pulling Liara in against her, a comfortable and familiar position, slotting together perfectly. “Like classic rock.”
“I see,” Liara said, though in truth she did not. It was easier to take Shepard at her word, especially when she began to hum.
Humming gradually became singing, the lyrics coming slow and smooth, Shepard’s voice deep and smooth. It had a rough quality around certain notes, a growl Liara could feel with their bodies close as they were. If she were to press her nose to Shepard’s neck, she would feel the same soothing vibration that came with her moaning and laughter.
The words came easily, as if long since memorised, and though Liara knew it from countless evenings of music and drinks and dancing, she was not so familiar with it as Shepard.
“Does it hold meaning to you?” A genuine question, though she might have guessed the answer.
“Some,” Shepard said as she pushed the hand on Liara’s hip to her lower back. A firm press brought them closer together, their swaying not slowed, not faltering for even a second. They were used to how the other moved, what a hand meant simply by where it was placed.
Liara slid her hand over Shepard’s shoulder, fingers grasping at her hair as she asked, “Would you tell me? If it is not too personal, I-”
“It reminds me of you.”
That caused a misstep, Liara’s foot on top of Shepard’s. “Me?”
“Come on, if I play it every time you must know it by now.” Shepard knew it was obvious from her heated cheeks and how she turned her head. Liara knew her too well to not know when she was embarrassed.
She also knew exactly how to make it worse, asking in a coy whisper, “And if I don’t?”
The hand at her back pushed in silent reprimand, begging to not have to say it. Easier, Shepard decided, to count the beats and sing it.
“Brandy, you're a fine girl, what a good wife you would be,” she sang, that rich voice in sharp contrast to her bashful smile and red cheeks. Pushing their noses together, she looked pointedly into her eyes. “Your eyes could steal a sailor from the sea.”
“Shepard,” Liara breathed, fingers gripping the front of her shirt.
A rough hand came gently upon Liara’s neck, teasing out the steel chain she wore. Fingers gripping it, Shepard closed her eyes. “Brandy wears a braided chain made of finest silver from the North of Spain, a locket that bears the name of the man that Brandy loved.”
The dog tags seemed heavier, the battleworn metal suddenly hot on scale and skin alike. Their eyes met, their swaying at a standstill.
“Does that make you my sailor?”
“Something like that, except,” Shepard trailed off, fingers loosening their grip. She had to swallow, and try again. “You know the sea will always bring me back to you.”
The way Liara held her, a quiet desperation in her grasp, reminded Shepard that it had not always been the case. Some part of them both would never believe it. Old wounds that would take more than time to heal, and understanding it made it hurt no less. She let the fist bunch at her shirt, kissed the solitary tear that fell, and tucked her as close as she could. She would let her feel her and know with a certainty she had not always been able to have that she was there.
After a moment and another tear, Liara managed in a voice too even, “It is a very sad song.”
“I guess it is.” Shepard pulled her in closer, the hand on the back of her head trembling. Slowly, she got them swaying again, coaxing Liara into a slow spin. Out, and quickly back in, bundled into her arms. Breathing out, Shepard whispered, “Good for dancing though.”
Liara let her lead them slowly, happier to simply relent, yielding all control and giving her movements over to Shepard. She could feel in her grip that there was more, a lump in her throat she could not swallow. Her fingers fluttered at the back of her neck, promising with a touch that if words were too much they did not need them.
Shepard needed them.
“I used to think about it when you were on Ilium,” she rasped, a plea with her throat to push it past her lips. She might have broken completely, unable to say more, but the song said it for her, and quietly she sang, “And Brandy does her best to understand.”
Pulling so their faces could rest together, Liara gave her the words she so needed. “I did, even when I did not want to.”
“You don’t have to anymore.” A promise, unwavering in its certainty.
It hung in the air around them, locking them together in silent understanding, until the song finished, leaving them in silence. They stayed still, holding onto each other, holding onto the moment, unwilling to be apart for even the solitary seconds it would take to change songs.
Finally, Shepard pulled back. She kissed Liara’s nose. “Your turn to choose.”
“What if I pick something terrible?” The same thing she asked every time, a familiar ritual that reminded them both that they were no longer in a war. Things were calm. Their biggest concern was what song to put on next, their most pressing fear the absence of warmth for less than a minute, and their only obligation to each other.
Shepard smirked. “Can’t be that bad, I only have good music.”
A moment of fiddling with the sound system, before she was back in Shepard’s arm, the notes so fresh they seemed still to be lingering in the air starting again.
“Liara?” breathed Shepard, both hands on her neck as she looked into her eyes.
Returning the gaze, Liara smiled for her. “It’s good for dancing.”
“And singing,” Shepard said softly. Clearing her throat, she clarified, “If you don’t mind.”
“I would like that.”
Smiling, Shepard started their swaying again, and promised herself that next time, she would find the words to tell Liara she had long since become her sea.