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She doesn’t begin to show until the eighth month.
It’s not a huge development, and so easily missed that Liara confuses it for extra weight for at least two weeks. She’s not nearly as active as she should be, and Shepard doesn’t help, always finding a reason to spoil her with chocolates and pretty cakes. Her stomach is soft and visible above her waistline, and that’s not unusual… until it is.
This morning, Liara pauses before she can begin buttoning up her shirt.
(And it is always a shirt, these days, holding her breath as she tests it out, each cautious button by button, to make sure that it will actually close around her chest. It doesn’t count if she can’t breathe, or if the button bulges like it might pop off when she sits down. And no, Jane, I definitely cannot go into work like this. Nor will I stay home like this. I’m taking the shirt off right now, and don’t get any ideas, I’m already running late...)
This morning, Liara barely gets the shirt onto her shoulders.
She stands with a peculiar expression before their bedroom mirror, a full-length one that captures her from her ankles to the tops of her crest. There’s definitely something changed about her belly, the way that the regular pouch has turned… taut, almost. Tight and round. Swollen. She sets a hand to it with a small gasp, fingers pushing down the waistband of her work trousers to get a better look. It is distinctly egg-shaped, low and still so small, and yet it marks the first real indication that there’s a tiny person growing inside of her.
My daughter.
Behind her, there’s a noise at the bedroom door, but Liara does not have to look up. Before long, Shepard is behind her, smile amused and her body warm as she slides in close against her back, fitting her chin on her shoulder.
“Don’t tell me you suddenly don’t care about your perfect attendance,” she murmurs, her lips brushing the soft skin by the hollow of Liara’s ear. The hum that her words garner is disapproving, but Liara’s smile does not shift. Her face lights up with it, warm and radiant, and it takes Shepard a moment to realise why. Her hands sneak around to Liara’s exposed stomach, and the firmness there draws a grin even before her gaze drops to see the tiny protrusion in the mirror.
For a moment, the pair of them marvel at it, Liara’s hands joining Shepard’s, guiding them along the girth of it, holding her in place. Shepard presses another kiss to her cheek, lingering long enough to tell her, “I told you that you were showing.”
“You did,” Liara agrees, and meets her gaze in the mirror before turning around. Her hands slide along Shepard’s upper arms, her shoulders, while Shepard encircles her waist. She presses her taut, tender stomach against Shepard’s and smiles into the kiss that’s placed, indulgent, to her lips.
She draws back again at the insistence of a shiver, only to realise that Shepard has pushed her shirt down to her elbows, where it’s caught against the bend. Her laughter is nothing short of disapproving, but Shepard takes no offence. She has no shame in her actions, either, though Liara already knows to expect that.
“You’re gorgeous,” Shepard tells her, one hand sliding along to the swell of her stomach.
“I’m going to be late,” Liara counters, and sighs when a kiss is pressed to her neck, her jaw. “Jane…”
A sigh comes warm and exaggerated against her throat. “I know.” Another kiss, and Shepard lifts her head. The next one gets placed on Liara’s lips, and leads to a second, a third, fourth… “I’m sorry that I find you so irresistible,” she sighs between kisses, and Liara struggles not to laugh again. “But no one else out there is carrying our little calamari.”
Liara’s eyes open in muted horror at the idea, but Shepard is grinning even before their lips can part. “I should hope not,” she tells her, voice dropping, and her hold on Shepard’s shoulders tightens. “And please stop calling her that. You know how uncomfortable it makes me when you refer to our daughter as food.”
“Does that mean peanut and blueberry are also out of the question?”
“Jane.”
“Fine.” She looks genuinely disappointed, and Liara’s smile finally returns. She presses a quick kiss to Shepard’s mouth, and does not let it linger. “You’re going to need a bigger shirt.”
“I’m prepared for that.”
She untangles herself easily, returning to her open wardrobe and sliding her shirt completely off. Shepard leans against the closet doorway, unabashedly watching her swap the shirt out for a larger one, kept conspicuously near the back of her work clothes. Liara slips into it quickly and shoots Shepard a pointed look as she begins buttoning it up.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“I know where I’d like to be…”
“Oh, I can only imagine.”
Stepping past her, Liara pauses at the hand that brushes against her arm, fingers slowly braceleting her wrist. When she turns back, there’s a strange look on Shepard’s face, awe-struck and watery. It is not unfamiliar – had appeared for the first time the night that they had decided to begin their pregnancy, and has a habit of reappearing when Liara is not expecting it.
Smiling, now, she eases closer and lets Shepard wrap her into a hug. It is comfortably tight, but she can tell that Shepard is holding back, afraid to press too close. She sighs by the side of Liara’s crest and presses her mouth there in not-quite-a-kiss. After a moment, Liara struggles not to squirm.
“I really will be late if you don’t let me go.”
“That’s the idea,” Shepard whispers. “You know, back on Mindoir, my school was pretty harsh on poor punctuality. You could get into serious shit if you arrived late too often, to the point that if you realised you were running behind, it was usually just best to cut your losses and take the entire day off.”
“Is that right?” Liara grins.
“Mm.”
“It sounds disastrous.” She peels herself away enough to press a kiss to Shepard’s chin. “I’ll see you after work.”
“Ugh, fine. Have a good day. Take care of the peach.”
“By the Goddess, Jane, this is your final warning…”
“Ooh, Professor Mode. You really want me to make you late, don’t you?”
Liara releases a good-natured scoff before stepping away, and Shepard chokes off a laugh. She watches Liara step into a pair of black flats, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. After a quick spray of perfume and a reapplication of chapstick, Liara smacks her lips together loudly and reaches for her purse.
“I’ll have dinner ready for when you get home,” Shepard tells her. “Any requests?”
Liara pauses in the bedroom doorway, turning to look over one shoulder with a smile and a quiet hum. “Surprise me,” she settles on, finally, and Shepard leans back on her hands with a confident grin. Her eyebrow wiggle is, perhaps, a little too much.
“You got it, babe.”
Liara’s pout slowly gives way to a reluctant smirk. “Stay out of trouble.”
“I love you,” Shepard calls after her.
Liara’s almost out of earshot when she catches it – is already opening the front door, and should not yell out for all of their neighbours to hear, not this early, at least, and certainly not with all of her mother’s etiquette lessons under her belt.
(She does it, anyway, and smiles all the way to the garage.)