The Prompt: A different look on the lifespan aspect of asari

shepard (either gender), bumps into Liara (for whatever reason) on the citadel, only shepard's 5 and liara's about 75 (so more or less the same as in game liara).

fast forward 23 years and after they "meld", liara accidently uncovers the memory, they both remember the encounter, and feel awkward about the sex they just had.

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The Fill:

It was probably the underwear he'd worn that had done it. He'd worn it as a joke. And because the laundry was on the fritz, and they were becoming reduced to wearing clothes that definitely did not fit regulations. Liara had seen them, and after being puzzled (before and after his explanation as to what Superman was), had found some humor in the situation. Then had divested him of even those shorts, and they'd both forgotten all about there even being such a thing as superheroes.

Only afterwards, when her eyes had grown blue again, did she seem to become curious about the red-blue boxers thrown onto the floor. Staring at them, almost studying them as she would some piece of vital information before her terminal, or when Shepard would find her standing in the doorway as he worked out.

So it fell to John to awkwardly explain why he even had those. "When I was a kid, I was really a big fan of Superman. I want to grow up, fighting crime. And flying. I even had my hair like his. When it was longer."

Her mouth was curled into a smile, fingers tracing along his back. "I'd like to see that."

"Maybe my Mom has some pictures." He rubbed his forehead, already bracing himself for the teasing.

"…you had a cape," Liara said, slowly. Sounding almost horrified.

"What—no, I got rid of that. Um. Before Basic."

"Before then, when you were a child. I met you when you were a child, Shepard. You had this long red cape. It kept getting caught on everything, and you almost died on the elevator, when the doors closed."

"Yeah, how—oh."

"Yes."

"That was you then."

"Yes." Liara reached out, still lost in that memory that had faded from both of their minds years ago. Her hand brushed against his cheek.

"Thanks?"

Even after they'd pried the toy gun from the boy's hands, a toy gun that shot little fake bullets that really did hurt, the human child still continue to harass those stuck in this elevator. His parents had the creased, wary look of those that had recently undergone torture. They had little pieces of their child on their own faces, a fact of human physiology that had always interested Liara, but none of his energy.

"John. I swear to God."

The music that played overhead, something that had been stripped of all life and joy, seemed to only help work the poor child up further. "Shut it off," he'd kept complaining, even before the elevator had broken.

There was something frightening about children already, especially ones that were mad. The red cape draped around his small shoulders seemed to signify a danger she didn't understand. His hair stood up from his skull in a shock of dark brown. "You said we were going to get me a pet varren. A real one. I want my gun back."

His eyes were blue, frantic, wide with hostile rage that made Liara step away. Her own problems with being around people, especially humans, was rising up to choke her.

He was rocking back and forth, face turning as red as his shorts. Dear Goddess.

"We're stuck here, Johnny. Just get used to that."

"I want to leave."

"We all do, kid." Another human muttered, turned away from the family, and sweating.

"I want my gun. I hate you, I really do, Hannah."

"What have we said about using our first names, John? Son."

"You think I care, Jeff!" The boy shrieked, hysterical, and so very loud in this cramped space. Mouth twitching as he looked up at his father. "Let me out!"

"Jesus Christ." A human female muttered.

His mother's hands kept clenching. "We're stuck here, Johnny. You know this. I know that you do."

The father, Jeff, was looking for a way to calm his son down. "If we give you your gun back, will you shoot it at anyone?"

"No. Promise." The large blue eyes set in that round face looked patiently up towards his father. Then shifted away, searching. Then finding her eyes, and smiling. "Please, Dad."

He was rocking back and forth on his feet incased in some heavy rubber and leather shoes with lights in the back that twitched sporadically. Still staring at her with an intensity that made her turn her head around. Liara had spent less time around children of any race than even humans in general, but knew he was targeting her. Perhaps because she'd stepped on his cape when walking in here, and insulted him as he'd pulled the fabric up in a disgusted huff. Her apologizing hadn't helped.

His mother was scolding the father. "Don't give him it. It'll be like that sword his grandfather gave him."

"He can't stab anyone with this."

"That's what you said about the sword."

"Well, considering he was able to stab his music teacher with his oboe, I don't think this is a fight we can win, Hannah."

John was pulling at the older man's hand. "Dad. Make her give me back my gun."

"We know what you're going, John. We're not going to fight each other."

"I want that gun, Hannah. Pleeease, Daddy."

"Fine. Fine. Here." The mother pulled the toy gun from her purse and gave it back to the boy. The way he held it, almost petting it, disturbed Liara. His blue eyes had cleared up of their tears, and he seemed to be focused on nothing in particularly.

"You're really tall, Mister."

"Because I'm a turian."

"My grandpa calls turians fork-heads."

"Good for your grandpa."

Silence, blessedly. Soon, they'd fix this elevator as the Citadel maintenance had promised, and she could go on with her life. Thank the Goddess she'd gotten here early to meet with the research team. She would give her presentation, and then go back to Thessia to take up her teaching post. It was not exactly what she was sure she wanted, even now. All those endless nights spent pacing her narrow apartment now seemed even more futile and meaningless. The prothean figures she'd collected grew eyes to follow her and tongues to ask how many years she'd spent on learning about their race.

John was looking at his shoes, then looking down a volus that's breathing had picked up in volume. "Hi. You're loud. One of the kid's in my class is a volus too. Once he got stuck in the slide. The janitor had to pull him out."

He was smiling, looking perhaps normal. Sliding towards the right, slowly. "Hi. Hi. What's your name?" Then he poked her with his toy gun, painted a bright orange.

"L-Liara."

"What's those numbers mean?"

"That I have a post-doctorate degree."

"What's that?"

Again, the poking.

"That I attended school for a number of years and studied well enough in my subject to be able to teach it to others as a profession."

"I like history. And art. How many years?"

"Several."

The knot on the kid's cape was perfect.

"So you're a teacher?"

"Soon. Perhaps."

"John, leave her alone. Please. I have a headache."

Liara tried to keep herself from cringing. "Oh, no, it's quite alright."

The boy was leaning in close. Whispering, "Can I be in your class?"

She was surprised to almost find herself smiling down at the spiky head. Between a chin that already looked fully formed, and the scary eyes, he looked like an adult human shrunk down. Except for the small gapped teeth that even she knew were 'baby teeth.' "I'm afraid I'm not that kind of teacher."

"What kind of teacher are you?"

"I'm a xenoarcheologist that studies prothean—"

"Archeologist? Like Indiana Jones?"

"Jesus W. Christ. No, John, we're not getting you a whip. Come here, get away from the young lady."

"No!"

Finally, the mother came over to drag Johnny away. When he shot her, aiming surprisingly well with those grimy hands, he hit her in the eye. To which the human tried her best to keep from reacting to. She took the gun away, again. "Maybe we should send him to that military school."

"Hannah, not now. We'll talk about that later."

"Yeah. Hannah."

At which the elevator doors popped open, and everyone tried to run out at the same time. She was shuffled near the back, as the small mob rushed onward, and found herself standing next to the boy.

"Can I come with you and be your sidekick?"

"A what? Where are you parents?"

"John. Now!"

"Fine. Jeffy." The child shook his head, and she felt terribly awkward just walking out next to him. Only tall enough to reach his parents' waists, yet he seemed to suck the oxygen out of rooms.

This wasn't even the right floor, but she wanted to avoid elevators. Perhaps forever. Stairs from now on, just to be careful.

Only peripherally did she see the boy be yanked back, falling, making some horrible choking noise.

"John?"

Liara turned, and saw only the child lying on the ground, the cape stretched out and leading to the closed door. More than half caught. The boy's eyes were huge, not understanding why he couldn't move or breathe. His hands were yanking at the red fabric tied around his throat. Curiously calm, the asari simply stepped forward and used her biotics to flick the doors open. Despite the technology installed to prevent people from disabling or otherwise harming the doors, she was able to rip through the defense easily.

She found herself holding the child, practically squashing him to her chest and throat. Her hand was against his warm wet cheek. His face was returning to its normal coloring, and she could breathe too. Liara could almost say something to him, a word of reassurance. He looked up at her, still lost in shock, too young to fully understand what had happened, but old enough to know he was hurt and scared. Looking up at her, he burst into tears. She shifted him into his mother's arms.

"John. Johnny."

"Honey. It's okay, you're okay now."

The mother had the same eyes as her son. Both filled with tears and shifting something in Liara's stomach. "Thank you, oh, God, thank you."

"Are you okay, Johnny?"

"Ma-mooommmmyyy!"

His mother pulled the fabric around him, like a blanket. "I'm here, John. It's okay."

By the time she left them, Johnny was already saying he felt fine and his throat only hurt a little, let go Mom.

For the first time, she wanted to contact her own mother, with whom she'd hardly spoken to in the past ten years. Did she even have time, before her meeting? Her meeting. Right. She had to go there, and plead her case to begin teaching. Go back to Thessia, and begin becoming a respected scholar, and follow her mother's example.

Liara felt herself reaching for the omni-tool on her arm, crafting the words, and making sure that when she headed down towards where the cabs were, she took the stairs.