Dr. Liara T'soni felt a frisson of delight run up her spine, from her tailbone all the way to her headcrest. This was the moment she'd been anticipating for weeks.
Commander Shepard was in the Normandy Medbay with a suspected pelvic fracture—or so he thought. He thought this, because it's what she had told him. The real reason for his extended stay, however, was far more self-serving.
Shepard had been fighting Cerberus shock troops in the field, and in truth looked much rougher than he was. His L-class implants radiated a dull maroon where the skin was still contiguous, and glowed crimson where it wasn't. You could hardly see the sclera of his right eye anymore. Only red.
He was propped up on a vacuum mattress when she came in, the matte titanium bed inclined at a standard exam room eighteen degrees. His hands were clasped behind his head, and she took a moment to appreciate the view.
Shepard was nearly 200 centimeters in height, and every centimeter delicious as far as Liara was concerned. He was a wonder. The hard, hulking knots of muscle that bulged dangerously from his scarred and twisted skin gave her butterflies and twinges low in her tummy. If she was being perfectly honest, his intake physical on the Normandy hadn't been an entirely professional affair either. Liara had joined Dr. Michel for the Commander's evaluation, ostensibly for a xenobiological-paleontological survey. The only trouble was, there weren't any other subjects. And Shepard, like today, had been nude, draped only in a towel over his groin.
At the time, Dr. Michel hadn't been pleased with him.
"You are in bad shape, Commander," she had admonished, swallowing her r's sexily. Her tone was brusque and tart. Liara had peeked up from her datapad, curious how this exchange would go, and not without a small stab of jealousy. Dr. Michel was, after all, another woman. And had beautiful cheekbones.
"Can you be a bit more specific, Doc?" Shepard's reaction was cool. He was flexing and extending the fingers of his left hand experimentally. Three of the carpal implants had been entirely replaced on that side minutes before. The digits still oozed blood and immunosuppressant.
"Contusions and lacerations in multiple states of 'ealing, two complete fractures set with titanium pins instead of being allowed to close properly, and your metabolic panel is terrible. You are not eating properly and don't seem to be getting sleep. There are renal troubles. One of your kidneys 'as been badly damaged; I'm trying to tell if it's—and don't move!" she snapped. "I am right in 'ze middle of my imaging for 'zat one! You can't even take care of yourself, 'ow will you possibly keep abreast of 'zis vessel or events in 'ze field?"
Shepard's voice, in response to this, had been so low that it was barely audible. Liara's ears perked up and strained to hear it, but she was too nervous to lean forward. He would see.
"Dr. Michel, if you ever, ever, question my fitness to command this ship, we will have, the two of us, such a problem. You wouldn't believe."
The Frenchwoman had frozen, and gone white as a sheet. She left without another word, the bay doors hissing shut behind her.
Liara had been trying to make herself as small as possible when she was pulled out of her reverie.
"Dr. T'soni."
Her head shot up, eyes too wide, lips pressed too firmly together, outlook too sunny. Shepard's lambent gaze penetrated her, unnerved and magnetized and transfixed her.
"You have everything you need for your survey?"
There was a rattling hum from his chest as he spoke. His words were dysphonic. Something had been knocked loose, and buzzed harshly in tandem with the flat, exhausted cadence of his voice. She felt a surge of sympathy, marrying her fear.
Liara's mind raced, looking for words, trying to remember what she was supposed to be doing. What the research was. Mercifully, he cut her non-response short.
"You'll show yourself out, then."
Liara minced out of Medbay with us much poise as she could muster. She felt as meek and vulnerable as a mouse. But the encounter had only fed and nourished her intoxication with the brutal, domineering, terrifying Captain.
She had climaxed three times, that night. Alone.
"Dr. T'soni."
Liara twitched, jolted back to present reality. Shepard was staring blandly from the vacuum mattress. He hadn't lost his temper yet, but he didn't look entertained. She gaped at him. "The fracture," he repeated. "The pelvic fracture."
"Yes, right! Well, as you know, Commander, you sustained significant blunt force trauma to the right iliac crest of the pelvis. I reviewed the team, um, video footage, where they hit you, and I'm trying to pin down a diagnosis. It may be a contusion only, but there is a deep laceration distal to it. And the pelvic implant, S-288, overlies the iliac crest, so I'm going to need to do a physical exam due to the imaging confounding," she finished nervously, willing the trap to spring in her favor.
Shepard looked nonplussed. The long, pregnant pause amplified her mounting unease. It was getting difficult to breathe.
"The L-series implants continuously regenerate the adjacent tissues, Doctor. Even the old junk series. Slap some Medigel on it and call it a day."
Liara's heart sank. She scrambled for something to salvage her point and retort. "Yes, that is true, but I've just read in the JAMC, the Journal of Applied Medical Cybernetics, that is, just last week, that major bone fractures in implant subjects should be definitively checked for misalignment. That means imaging and a physical. The implants can close the fracture eventually, true, but even small misalignments can have major repercussions vis-à-vis joint instability. And that," she concluded, feeling foolish, "would translate to significantly compromised field performance. Going forward."
Shepard said nothing. He stared at her. Liara felt her heart pounding in her ears, and high violet color creeping into her cheeks. Shit.
Liara cleared her throat, and tried one last gambit. "M-moreover, a pelvic fracture in humans has a significant potential for life-threatening bleeding, and addressing bleeding remains the first priority for isolated operations."
Shepard grunted, mulling this over, then nodded abruptly. "Come and see, then," he rumbled, his voice guttural and curt.
Disbelieving, Liara floated forward. She'd never been this close to the Commander before. As if disembodied, she watched her hand set her datapad on the bed next to his. She came around to his right side. And put her hands on his hip. She could detect only the slightest tremor in her fingertips as they came down. She wondered, absurdly, how finely tuned his ocular implants were, and whether he could tell that she was trembling. It didn't matter anymore.
As her fingertips gently kissed the rugged, hairy skin sweeping over his hip, she closed her eyes and thanked the Goddess that she'd had the presence of mind to send Dr. Michel to the Citadel hematology conference. Chloë would've seen to the exam herself, whether she suspected a ruse or not.
