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“Oh, I’m sorry –“
The words cut through her meditative state like a knife. Whatever tiny fragment of inner-peace she’d managed to cobble together in the past few hours shattered as her eyes shot open and the sphere of biotic energy hovering between her hands suddenly spiked in power, flaring like a nova before collapsing, then exploding to send her skidding across the floor.
It was pure reflex that allowed Commander Shepard to plant herself with her hands and keep her skull from cracking on the hard metal foot of the couch behind her.
Heart racing, Shepard found Miranda Lawson’s ghostly reflection staring back at her in the glass of the observation deck’s window, surprise mirroring her own.
The Normandy was making a slow arc through space. From hundreds of millions of kilometers away, the light of the main star of some unknown system spilled into the room as Shepard looked over her shoulder, bathing everything in a sharp blue glow which only enhanced the blue of Miranda’s own eyes.
She swallowed.
Undoubtedly, Miranda was wondering what the hell she had just walked in on.
Samara, for her part, remained seated in the lotus position the entire time until her eyes gradually lost that unsettling biotic glow. When she met Shepard’s gaze, her face remained perfectly expressionless, yet there was something in it that said, ‘I’m deeply disappointed in your lack of control, Commander.’
Or maybe Shepard was just imagining that; maybe Samara actually found the whole situation incredibly amusing.
It was hard to tell.
She could be completely unreadable when it suited her.
As if showing everyone how it was done, the biotic sphere Samara had been meditating on dissipated and the crackling field was finally silenced.
Imaginary disappointment or not, Shepard ducked her head. If they stayed here for another six-hundred years maybe she’d finally get a handle on the basics of asari meditation, but it wasn’t going well so far.
With enough time, she could gradually put everything out of her mind: the mission, the endless field of stars passing by her window, the rising and falling hum of the Normandy’s drive core, the inevitability of the Reaper’s return… all would be erased from her thoughts one by one. But there were always distractions. There was always -
“Do come in, Miranda,” Samara said, standing easily, as if she hadn’t just spent the last several hours in the exact same pose without a break. Despite being rebuilt by the perhaps the finest medical mind humanity had to offer, Shepard’s own muscles ached, from both action and inaction. “I was just about to leave.”
Confused, Shepard looked up at her, but when she made to stand, to say more, Samara gave her a look that conveyed the word ‘don’t’ very effectively. After several weeks of Samara very patiently showing her the ropes, this had hardly been the first time someone interrupted them – usually EDI - but until now, every interruption had been dismissed with a tone both polite yet brokering no argument. If ever a visitor did come bearing urgent news, their session would always have ended just moments beforehand, as if Samara somehow knew.
And, knowing her, she probably did.
Never had a session been cut short like this.
Miranda remained rooted in place, “I didn’t mean to interru-“
Samara passed her by without another word, or indeed so much as a glance.
The ship’s slow arc continued, and the searing blue light of the star vanished as Samara disappeared down the hallway, her heels sounding against the floor long after she disappeared in the direction of the commissary.
“Is she mad at me?”
Gamely attempting to smooth her hair, Shepard tried to conceal a smile but didn’t quite manage it. “I don’t think Samara gets mad.” If she ever did, Shepard’s plan was to be halfway across the galaxy when it happened.
Just in case.
The door shut automatically and plunged the room back into darkness; only a few very dim lamps, and the light of the door’s locking mechanism, kept that darkness from being absolute. To the surprise of them both, the lock shifted immediately from green to red.
Miranda stammered, “Did - did she just lock us in here?”
“Um.” With Samara already halfway across the deck, it was far more likely this was just another ship malfunction. They’d been having small ones all day; flickering lights, an unpleasant shuddering in the elevator’s normally fluid motions, showers that ran either too hot or too cold; that sort of thing. Nothing too serious. Nothing worse than any of the minor malfunctions one would expect on a four-month-old ship.
Except, well, this was the Normandy, and they had an unshackled AI running everything from the engines to the carbon scrubbers.
Until Joker broke EDI’s bonds, there hadn’t been so much as a hiccup from the ship. Honestly, it ran smoother than the President’s personal transport.
When Miranda waved her omni-tool over the lock, it remained stubbornly unaffected. “It won’t open.”
Had to be a malfunction then. Even though she was technically everywhere, Shepard's gaze turned to the ceiling, one of the places where she was certain the Normandy had eyes. “EDI?”
The voice of the ship came in crystal clear through the intercom, “Yes, Commander?”
“Can you unlock the door to the starboard observation deck?”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Commander.”
So used to her every request being granted, it took a moment before Shepard realized she had been denied. “Huh?”
“Joker has tasked me with running a series of combat projections involving multiple simulated Collector vessels. I am unable to direct any processing power towards that system at this time. Locking mechanisms, lights, and other low-priority systems may be impacted.” Shepard and Miranda shared a look. “I will try to remember to cycle the oxygen, however.”
Ah yes, EDI humor; hilarious and not at all disturbing. “But, hold on, if you have enough processing power to communicate with me, then surely you can -“
EDI didn’t let her finish. “I will be able to open the door in exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes. Unless, of course, it is urgent: in which case I could summon Grunt to attempt a manual override, if you wish.”
Well, that’d be awkward, and more importantly, might damage the structural integrity of the ship. “Couldn’t you ask Sama-“ Her words were arrested by a gloved hand on her shoulder.
Miranda cleared her throat. “Please don’t trouble yourself, EDI. We can wait.”
“Understood, Ms. Lawson. I will send the after-action reports to your terminal as they come in.”
“Thank you.” Her tone did not match the unconcealed grimace on her lips. ‘More reports,’ those lips were saying, ‘Hooray.’
Even as her heart raced with such a simple touch, Shepard was truly glad it was Miranda who had to deal with that stuff and not her. The next twenty-four hours would give them plenty of real problems to worry about without adding the results of hypothetical combat encounters into the mix.
Like, for instance, the fact that Miranda’s hand still hadn’t left her shoulder.
Uniquely terrifying, that.
They smiled as their eyes met, but Miranda’s didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Something else must be wrong, but then, Shepard thought, what wasn’t wrong? The crew had been kidnapped, EDI had been unshackled, the ship was acting up, they were about to leap headlong into the unknown. They hadn’t had time to properly speak to each other since it all happened, but now there was too much time, almost eighteen hours of it, and then they’d pass through the Omega-4 relay…
Into the great unknown.
And who could say whether there would be any time left after that?
It was hard to put those sorts of worries out of your mind, hence why Shepard was here in the first place, trying and failing to find some way to cope.
Heels clicked against the floor, circling around until Miranda was towering before her, leaning against the window that was all that separated them from the endless void beyond. She raised an eyebrow. “Interesting outfit for meditation, by the way.”
Shepard looked down at herself; a loose-fitting white shirt and black shorts with a red and white N7 strip running down one side. More casual than she’d ever walk the ship in, but then the Normandy’s unofficial Cerberus dress code didn’t seem like it mattered so much these days. “Are you saying my outfit is less suitable than Samara’s?”
Miranda appeared to consider this. “A fair point.”
They smiled at each other, and Shepard felt a tiny bit more at ease. “So, um… what brings you here?” she asked. Hardly a complaint, of course, but it was just that if anyone aboard was capable of unsettling Shepard still further, it was Miranda Lawson.
Well, that or the return of the Reapers.
And the longer they watched each other, the less certain Shepard was about that. At least if a Reaper showed up, her training would take over. There was no training for Miranda Lawson. Nothing from her previous romantic dalliances had prepared Shepard for her. And every time they were alone together, the hole in the pit of her stomach returned along with the apparently requisite dry throat and racing heart.
It almost made her want to see the doctor.
And then she remembered that Chakwas was gone.
The pit grew larger.
“Wanted to check in,” Miranda replied. “I assumed you were here by yourself.”
She blinked, eyes scanning the room out of habit. Samara hardly ever left the observation deck except to eat or go on a mission. In fact, as far as anyone knew, Samara didn’t even lie down to sleep, just spent her nights in meditation, seated like a monk. Miranda should have known this better than anyone, to be honest.
One thing she certainly knew better than anyone was how to read Shepard’s expressions. It probably came from spending two years piecing her back together while simultaneously going over her Alliance records with a fine-toothed comb. She was reading her face as plain as day now, “EDI informed me that Samara was on deck two. I suppose her internal sensors are also malfunctioning.”
Hmm. Concerning, but they couldn’t exactly put the genie back in the lamp, could they? Completely unshackled and bound to the Normandy in ways that not even Tali could understand, EDI had to be treated like the rest of the crew now. Her quirks would hopefully smooth themselves out over time, provided, of course, they had the time. “Samara was teaching me some of her meditation techniques.”
“Which you decided to do in your workout clothes?”
She shrugged. There had been a ship’s muster earlier this morning, but without knowing what they’d find on the other side of the relay, not much was to be gained by drawing up elaborate plans. Everyone was in agreement that finding their kidnapped crewmates was priority number one. Beyond that, well, they’d just have to wing it. Grunt, at least, had been very enthusiastic about the idea.
So, with EDI running things, most of the crew were left to their own devices.
“After our meeting, I did my usual exercises in the shuttle bay,” Shepard explained. “And that’s where Samara found me.”
“And when was this?”
Shepard had to think about it for a moment. “Around noon, I guess.”
“You were exercising for three hours?”
Again, she shrugged. There was still nearly a day left of travel. If this ship didn’t have an AI on board, keeping the Normandy running without its crew would have required everyone’s complete attention, including Shepard’s. As it was, there was little to do but wait. “Time honored ritual before battle; our ancestors used to sharpen their swords, wax their bowstrings-“
“Do insane amounts of chin-ups?” Miranda interrupted dryly.
Shepard grinned. “Completely insane.” Her arms felt as limp as a dead hanar tendrils. Feeling some of that fatigue returning, Shepard stretched and cringed at the pain. “What about you? What have you been up to?”
Miranda frowned. Turning her head, she gazed out onto the void of space. “Filed some reports. Watched the recordings of our fight with the praetorian a couple of times.”
Shepard canted her head.
“Trying to devise a better strategy, should we be unfortunate enough to meet another one.”
God, Shepard hoped not. “Better than the plan where I run around and hold its attention while everyone else shoots it from cover?”
She smirked. “Yes.”
“And did you?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
They both laughed.
The sight made Shepard ache. Miranda was unspeakably beautiful. Shepard had never told her so, of course, not with the knowledge that her father had engineered her to look this exact way. Sometimes she wondered how Miranda felt when she looked in a mirror. It was disturbing to consider that she might think of him and his manipulative hand guiding her life, that she’d never see herself the way Shepard did at this moment: laughing… open in a way few would ever be lucky enough see.
“And,” Miranda continued, “after that, I went looking for you.”
With EDI available, finding people on the Normandy wasn’t exactly difficult, but she understood why Miranda didn’t ask their resident AI. Likely, it was for the same reason Shepard allowed Samara to lead her to this room. Sometimes it was good to let your mind wander, to let your feet take you where they will, or to sit and watch the stars pass slowly by. All that nervous energy had to go somewhere.
“Do you do this often?” Miranda asked, gesturing at Shepard’s seated posture.
“Picked it up from Samara after we took care of Morinth. Her way of thanking me, I guess?”
“An interesting gift.”
“It has proven useful,” her brow furrowed, “I guess.” Up to a point, really; that point being when the crew had been abducted. Now it wasn’t working so well.
Miranda didn’t look convinced, probably because Shepard wasn’t either.
If nothing else, it was better to ponder the infinite space surrounding them than to sit in her quarters and stare at her own hands and wonder where she'd gone wrong. She’d been doing far too much of that lately.
“Jacob’s been taking apart every gun he can get his hands on, then cleaning them piece by piece,” Miranda began, “When you weren’t in your cabin, the armory was the next place I checked.”
That did sound like Jacob; very focused, very practical.
“I’ve never had to prepare for an epic, and possibly final, battle before,” she continued. “It’s been interesting to see how the rest of the crew handles the pressure. And apparently, the great Commander Shepard spends the eve of battle in meditation like a samurai warrior.“
“I can only take apart and clean my guns so many times…” She could also only ask EDI for status updates so many times before even the ship’s computer started giving her crap for it; which she did in the form of flickering lights and, even worse, adjusting her speech synthesizer so it took on four voices at once, all perfect impersonations of the drill sergeants who made Shepard’s life hell during N7 training.
Ugh. The memory still made her shiver.
Miranda noticed it. “Cold? You should be.”
Shepard shook her head. Coldness was definitely not the problem. Quite the opposite, really.
“Zaeed’s making… something… in the commissary, by the way.”
Their eyes met. That sounded dangerous.
"And Tali's been fiddling with the engine all day, I believe. But what about you? No hidden talents to practice?” Miranda continued. “No hobbies? Cooking? Calibration?”
Shepard shook her head again. “Ran out of ship models to put together. Kasumi let me borrow some books, but at the moment it’s a little hard for me to care about how that body ended up in the vicarage and whether or not Ms. Marple will solve the case before the killer escapes.”
“So you went with pushups instead?”
“So many pushups,” Shepard said with a smile. “What?” she asked at the frown on Miranda’s lips. “Gotta stay in shape.”
As the Normandy passed through another gate, everything was lit by a flash of white light, and Miranda’s eyes lingered on Shepard's form, sweeping over bare arms and legs with an expression one might’ve called hungry. “Mission accomplished then.”
Despite the continuing intrusive thoughts of their failure and likely death infesting her brain, Shepard smiled as the room was again plunged into darkness. Where would she be without Miranda? It was the easiest question she’d ever have to answer. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
Miranda was still smiling, “How many?”
“Hmm?”
“How many pushups?”
Shepard rolled her shoulders. God, every inch of her upper body ached. “Too many.” Miranda watched her expectantly until Shepard sighed. “I lost count after three-hundred.” There had also been many minutes on the treadmill, the weight-set, hell, she even bounced a ball against the hatch for a while until it disappeared into the maintenance bay.
The last thing she expected was for Miranda to let out an appreciative whistle. Shepard smirked up at her. “What? You do good work.”
That finally caught her off guard, “Me?”
Shepard gestured at her arm muscles, and even such a subtle movement was not without a throb of residual pain. She’d definitely overdone it this morning. If Samara hadn’t showed up, she’d have probably passed out on the floor. “I don’t recall being in this good of shape when I died.”
Miranda snorted. “I helped… a little, but you’re the one constantly honing mind and body.” Even in the dark, Shepard could still feel Miranda’s eyes on her, taking in every inch of exposed skin. “Especially body.”
And there went her heart-rate again. “Body is a lot easier,” Shepard admitted, voice barely a whisper. Once this thing began between them, Miranda was hardly sparse when it came to her praise of Shepard’s physical form… but there was something in her eyes now, something much more intense than she’d ever seen.
“The question is why. At this point, the only person on the ship who’d possibly beat you in an arm-wrestling contest is our resident genetically engineered krogan.”
“Hmm. Sometime to strive for.”
Miranda rolled her eyes.
“Little else to do. Might as well try to stay in shape,” Shepard offered with a shrug. It was a joke, of course, she’d simply needed something to occupy herself. Something to get her mind off her failure. It was Reaper technology they had been dealing with. She should’ve known the IFF was being tracked. She should’ve been here.
The crew had been counting on her to lead them to victory…
She’d never failed like this before. The Collectors were an unknown quantity when they destroyed the SR-1, and Akuze had been a disaster, but it hadn’t been her disaster. This colossal fuck up? This one was entirely on Shepard.
Her thoughts must’ve shown on her face again, because Miranda’s smile fell, and Shepard looked away. Everyone was giving her the same look lately. It’s not your fault.
Like hell it wasn’t.
“Hey,” Miranda said, nudging her knee with the toe of her boot. “We’ll find them.”
She shut her eyes at the contact, letting out a breath. “I know,” she replied eventually.
“And we’d better, because at this rate, in a few months maybe you really would be able to lay Grunt flat on his ass without your biotics.”
Even now, Shepard couldn’t entirely keep from smiling. “I’m sure his morale would suffer greatly,” she said, rolling her eyes. To be honest, he’d probably love it.
“And we can’t have that.”
“Though I have to say,” Shepard continued, rolling her shoulders and confirming that yes they did still hurt, “it’d be interesting to see how far I could push myself. I used to get pains in my left shoulder before I died. Combat injury -”
Miranda nodded, stepping around until she was behind Shepard. “The bridge of the SSV Carrhae, impaled by flying debris during the Blitz. I’ve read the reports.”
There was a time when it had bothered her that Miranda knew so much about her life, before trust had been gained, in those early days when all she saw was a uniform and a hated insignia. Now that deep knowledge didn’t feel intrusive like it once had, it felt like something else entirely… “Indeed.”
“And then there’s that scar on your chest from the thresher maw on Akuze.”
“Couldn’t eat solid food for a week,” she remembered. There was also a new, much smaller scar on her upper thigh from the maw on Tuchanka, though maybe Miranda didn’t need to know about that one just yet.
“Every bit of you was put back just as you were… excepting the necessary skeletal and tissue replacements, the cybernetic implants to repair your eyes, ears… and various internal organs,” a pause, “oh, and the completely illegal L5 implant…”
“Is that all?” Shepard asked with a wry smile.
“Yes. The Illus-“ she stopped herself; after the incident with the derelict ship, their patron was a sensitive subject, but she was getting better at dodging it. “The idea was to bring you back as faithfully as we could. Scars and all.”
“But with some improvements, I take it?”
“It’s true,” she replied, pacing over to the edge of the couch. “You have been enhanced in some ways. Stronger biotics. Stronger immune system…”
Shepard raised an eyebrow. That was a new one.
“Can’t have you winding up with a preventable disease while you’re out saving the galaxy.”
Made sense, she had to admit. “Explains why I haven’t gotten sick lately.”
“You’ll easily live to a hundred and fifty.” Their eyes met in the glass’s reflection. “Provided you stay out of trouble.”
She cracked a smile.
“But nothing I did has enhanced your muscle growth.”
Shepard rolled her shoulders again. “They just seem…”
Miranda leaned closer. “You work out when you’re stressed. You’ve been stressed ever since we revived you. Hence the added muscle mass.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Oh. Right. Was that in my report too?”
“No. That knowledge came through passive observation.”
Oh. Of course, she thought, shaking her head.
Miranda stood. “Your body has been enhanced, certainly, but what you’ve done with those enhancements is all on you. Though…” there was a pressure on her shoulders as she knelt behind her. “I suppose now wouldn’t be a bad time for a physical diagnostic. It has been, what, three months since you woke?”
Shepard had to think about it for a second. “Three months, fifteen days.” Added pressure stopped her from getting up. Something fell to the floor, and with the dark it took a moment before Shepard realized it was a glove, followed by a second one.
Miranda hummed in her ear as bare hands traveled the length of Shepard’s arms, “More than capable of withstanding the recoil of a M300-Claymore, I think.”
She shivered, and then shivered even more when she felt the cold press of medigel against her back. “I, um, think that’s mostly thanks to those skeletal upgrades you mentioned.” Shepard was probably the only human in the galaxy capable of wielding a claymore like the krogan intended. It was a good thing her eardrums were also synthetic. That thing was about as subtle as a thanix cannon round to the backside.
“Tension in the muscles though. That won’t do.” She stiffened when insistent fingers began pressing into her skin. Medigel worked quickly. Fortunately, Miranda's hands did not. There was something to be said for a gradual treatment. “We’ll need your body in peak physical condition when we take on the Collectors.”
Assuming they even got that far, Shepard thought. There was still the very real danger that they’d die the second they popped out of the relay. No one but the Collectors had ever returned from there. Maybe there was more to safely navigating the relay than just the IFF?
Who knew?
Shepard had nightmares of them activating it, then would come the bright flash of light, and then… nothing.
The end of the mission.
But as quickly as all those thoughts appeared, they melted away as Miranda worked her shoulders. Shepard let out a long breath and allowed her head to fall forward.
“I’m pretty sure I’m actually terrible at this and you’re just humoring me.”
She shook her head vehemently. It was impossible to put into words just how it felt to be touched like this, by Miranda Lawson of all people. “No one in the galaxy knows my body better than you.”
“I suppose you do have a point there.”
Shepard hummed. Miranda knew exactly what to do with her hands, and despite everything, despite the horror of the last few days, despite the high probability that they’d all be dead in less than eighteen hours, in that warm embrace she felt completely weightless. She felt free.
The Normandy passed through another gate and the deep blues and greens of the Hades Gamma nebula evaporated in a white flash.
“Quick,” Miranda said, when the Normandy reemerged into sublight. “What system are we in?”
“Balor. Caleston Rift,” Shepard replied without hesitation.
Miranda sighed. “Did you even open your eyes?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling while peering through her hair and pointing at an enormous cluster of stars just visible to at the window’s edge. “Globular cluster NJK-15. From the Phoenix Massing it’s no more than a tiny speck in a sea of stars.”
Forgoing the massage, Miranda scooted closer, resting her chin on Shepard’s bare shoulder, joining her in watching the galaxy fly by.
“But from here?” Shepard continued, “It’s really something, isn’t it? Thousands of ancient stars filling your whole field of view. Old when the Reapers were young.”
Miranda didn’t say anything, only hummed softly, wrapping her arms around Shepard’s waist. The Normandy twisted through space and activated its FTL drive, bathing everything in a blue light that shimmered like the auroras back on Earth.
It only took a minute and the shimmering ended, the starfield rotated, bringing the next mass effect gate into view, and poof, the cluster, and the endless field of stars were gone.
One gate closer to the Omega relay. One gate closer to the inevitable.
They’d dock at the fuel station in Sahrabarik, replenish the Normandy’s fuel tanks and weapons bays, and then the time would finally come. Ready or not, the crew needed them. They couldn’t afford to wait one more hour.
Another system came into view. Pylos. Omega would be next.
“Worried?” Miranda asked.
Shepard ducked and smiled again. “Always.” She nudged Miranda’s head with her own. “You?”
Arms squeezed around her chest. “I feel… surprisingly confident. You have that effect on people, you know?”
“Never quite understood why,” she replied, gradually deflating.
Their heads bumped lightly together. “You know the name of every person onboard this ship, what world they came from, which ones were formerly Alliance –“
“You know that stuff too,” Shepard interrupted.
“Only because I spy on them, because I have to know everything. You do it because you care.”
“Hmm. I think you care too.”
Miranda huffed but didn’t object. “I admit, I’ve never served with a crew like this one. It’s… unique.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” she said with a smile. A tank-bred krogan, a drell assassin, an asari justicar… The characters in your average Blasto movie weren’t half as imaginative.
“But I’ve never seen anyone command the loyalty that you do.” Miranda squeezed her again, chuckling when Shepard let out a long breath. “Not even the Illusive Man.”
“Hmmph.”
“Took me a while, but I think I understand why now. I’d feel safe in these arms, I think.”
Before she could come up with anything to say, Miranda was turning her attention to Shepard’s stomach, hand winding its way under the shirt to gently stroke the skin there. In the silence, Shepard coughed and mumbled a thanks. It was all she could think of to say.
“Up to a point, of course. You could probably throw a Collector further than Grunt.”
“Now that’s something we’ll have to try,” Shepard laughed, though seeing Miranda reflected behind her, admiring her body so openly still had her feeling all out of sorts. “You know, after two years, I’m surprised you aren’t sick of looking at me.”
She snorted, a breath of warm air against the hairs of her neck. “Turns out you’re so much more interesting when you’re conscious.”
Shepard’s teeth flashed in the muted red light of Sahrabarik’s star, which hopefully also served to hide her blushing cheeks.
To the right of it was the deeper red of the planet Urdak and to the left the blue of Imorkan. Out there, somewhere, too dim to be seen, was the relay.
Miranda shook her. “Stop worrying.”
“It takes a lot of effort to keep my mind off things,” Shepard replied, shoulders falling. “But I don’t think I can manage one more rep tonight.” She focused again on the reflection of Miranda’s eyes in the glass. “And meditation just isn’t going to happen.”
“I could leave, if it would help?” Miranda asked with a wry smile.
Shepard rolled your eyes. “You can’t.”
They both glanced at the reflection of the red door lock behind them. “Ah, yes. But that’s fine,” she said, hugging Shepard closer. “I didn’t want to anyway.”
“Good,” she replied, resting her own hands over Miranda’s. “We’re in agreement there.”
“There are, however, other ways to distract that brain of yours,” Miranda added, fingers tickling her stomach through the thin material of her shirt.
She swallowed.
“And no one knows your body’s limits better than me.”
She laughed nervously. “Do I want to know what you did with me while I was comatose?”
“Please,” she sneered. “I do have standards.”
Shepard chuckled, letting her gaze return to the endless field of stars, but it wasn’t long before Miranda captured her eyes again. “Did you think it would end like this?”
Miranda’s skilled hands stopped moving. “What do you mean?”
Perhaps she thought Shepard was thinking about the mission, but she wasn’t looking for the relay out there, she kept her focus on Miranda alone. If the first thing she saw after being brought back to life was Miranda Lawson’s face, then this wasn’t such a bad way for things to end. “You and me, like this,” Shepard continued.
Shepard could practically feel the smile on Miranda’s lips when she kissed the back of her neck. “To be honest, from your psych profiles, I assumed we wouldn’t get along.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Her hands began to slide gently across Shepard’s skin again. “We knew you had no love for Cerberus. Whatever the Illusive Man thought, I had no illusions that you’d ever truly embrace working with us.”
They’d had this discussion before:Shepard’s thoughts about Cerberus, their motivations, their methods. Now wasn’t the time to dredge it all up again. This would probably be their final day amongst the living. History could say whatever it wanted about Shepard’s deal with the devil as long as the Normandy and her crew succeeded tomorrow. “You spent all that effort to rebuild someone you thought would hate you?”
“To save humanity? Yes.”
It was deathly quiet without the crew. Normally, faint conversations could be heard from the quarters bordering this room, but all Shepard could hear was the faint hum of the ship’s FTL engines, its air circulating system, her breathing, and Miranda’s. “I don’t hate you.”
“I noticed.”
She laughed. It wasn’t necessary to ask how Miranda felt, her touch said more than Shepard would ever be capable of. She coughed. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Crystal.”
“Good.”
Miranda pulled back, and Shepard immediately missed the contact. “You know,” she asked, fingers gently prodding her shoulder, “I don’t remember this mole. It’s benign, I hope?”
“It is,” Shepard said, laughing softly. “About that though… it’s on the wrong side.”
Miranda’s finger stilled. “Are you serious?”
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Dammit.”
They both laughed.
“Guess I don’t want to know what my shoulders looked like before you rebuilt me.”
Miranda shook her head. “You really don’t.”
Looking back out to space, Shepard let out a long breath.
“That still bother you?”
She shrugged. “A little.” You were little more than a frozen mass of flesh and bones, Liara had told her weeks ago. It was hard to wrap her head around the idea of people breathing life into something in that state and having it rise again, unchanged, every neuron back where it belonged as if nothing had happened. But then, Shepard wasn’t a scientist.
This was why she concentrated on shooting things.
Way simpler.
She opened and closed her fist. The sensations were exactly the same as she remembered them. Every vein, every hair, every scar exactly where it was supposed to be. Pretty much. “I’m still me. I remember everything… but…”
Miranda hugged her close.
“Am I truly the same person I once was? Ugh.” Shepard let her head drop again. “Metaphysics makes my brain hurt.”
“Best avoided, I think,” Miranda said. “Leave it to the experts.”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to overwork my brain.”
“Considering how your muscles have grown, I doubt that’s a possibility. I’m sure you could cram a lot more knowledge in there if you exercised your mind the way you do your body.”
“Studying was never my strong suit at the academy.”
“You do yourself a disservice. You have an impressive knowledge of the colonies in the Traverse. I’ve seen you going over the system surveys when you’re bored, and you know the ship’s physical limits in atmospheric flight almost as well as Joker.”
Just how much had Miranda been watching her? Eh, stupid question. “Hmm, I always wanted a girlfriend who would take the time to know me inside and out,” Shepard said.
Miranda laughed with her. Then Shepard tensed when deft fingers drifted down her sides and around her chest again. “I also know where your sensitive spots are.”
She gasped. “Don’t you dare.”
Soft fingers flexed, pads scraping flesh as they drew closer to the ticklish part of Shepard’s underarm before drawing away and lightly slapping her on the stomach. “Actually,” she said, breathing into her ear, “I’ve got other plans for you tonight.”
Shepard tensed again for completely different reasons. “I’m -” she shivered as Miranda kept those lips agonizingly close to her ear, hot breath against skin, “intrigued.”
“And there’s still a few things about your body that I would like to investigate further,” she paused, “for science.”
Shepard turned until they were facing each other, a bit too eagerly, judging by the amused look on Miranda’s face. She tried to play it cool and most assuredly failed. If nothing else, that alone reminded her of many one-night stands throughout her years in the Alliance. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of scientific discovery.”
Miranda laughed and then their lips were meeting. With strength aided by a hint of biotics, she tugged Shepard forward by the shirt collar, allowing gravity to take her to the floor and pulling Shepard on top of her.
She looked down at her sheepishly. “Can’t say I was expecting this either.”
“Hmm?”
Part of Miranda’s uniform had come undone somehow, revealing an unexpectedly lacy bra; it was very… distracting. Miranda laughed. “I just… thought you would… you know… lead.”
Miranda smirked. “And here I was expecting you to. You are the great Commander Shepard after all.”
“I don’t think I want to know what people are saying I’m like in bed.”
“Or on the floor?” Miranda added.
“Or on the floor,” Shepard repeated, swallowing as a leg brushed against hers. “Are you comfortable, by the way?”
“Very.”
Though she was breathing more heavily now, Miranda made no effort to bring their lips together again. She stretched and smiled at Shepard’s appraising look. “There was a series of articles about you in Badass Weekly, by the way, after you died. They claimed you were quite the womanizer: multiple crew-mates, the asari consort – without an appointment - a turian diplomat, even a hanar… somehow… One wonders how you managed to find the time to stop Saren, honestly.”
Shepard shook her head. “God.”
“Fictional-You really gets around.”
“Good for her,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
“But the real Commander Shepard is much more interesting to me.”
She cleared her throat. “And how does the real Commander Shepard compare?”
“Well, she’s more awkward than I expected, for one. Eager to charge into the thick of battle, yet let a woman express the slightest interest in her and she freezes and goes as red as a hanar’s bottom.”
“I wouldn’t call your interest slight.”
“Remember Shiala?”
“Shiala?” Shepard asked, brow furrowing.
“The green asari on Illium?”
Oh god.
“I was there, remember?” She poked Shepard’s belly. “Red. As a. Hanar.”
Oh god. Since somehow Miranda had effectively pinned her with her legs despite being on the bottom, Shepard let her head fall on Miranda’s chest as she tried to compose herself.
Miranda patted her back. “It was enough to make one wonder: would the great commander Shepard be interested in anyone?”
Shepard met Miranda’s eyes with a look of complete seriousness. “I love you, Miranda.”
She swallowed. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Just so we’re clear.”
“Crystal.”
Resting her head on what was, one might say, the most comfortable spot on the ship, Shepard looked out through the window. The field of stars was now almost completely drowned out by the blue distortion of the ship’s mass effect field as they burned their way towards the fuel depot. Only the brightest of stars shone through.
“Two billion credits well spent then,” Miranda added, stroking her hair.
Four months ago… or rather, two years ago in real time, Shepard had been lying on a bed alone waiting for the Normandy to reach Ilos. She’d felt the loneliness keenly then, even as she did her best to keep her mind occupied with reports about Saren and his ship.
But this time… this time she felt like a completely different person.
Perhaps because she sort of was.
“Hey,” Miranda said after a while.
Shepard pushed herself back onto her hands. Miranda really seemed to enjoy the sight of Shepard hovering over her, so why not give her what she wanted?
“So, you love me, huh?”
She swallowed and nodded.
“And here I am completely at your mercy.”
It was hard not to roll her eyes. Miranda at someone else’s mercy? Please. Even without an implant as powerful as hers, if she wanted, Miranda Lawson could propel Shepard through the air with enough force to open the door the hard way.
“Every partner I’ve ever had has tried to lead,” she continued.
Shepard swallowed. “Erm, so have mine.”
Silence.
“Hmm. I see.” Miranda let her arm fall to the floor, then, slowly a wisp of biotic energy trailed up from her shoulder to her elbow, and finally to palm of her hand. At Shepard’s widening eyes, Miranda smirked and snapped her fingers.
She squeaked, then huffed, crossing her arms as a ball of biotic energy lifted her off the ground and left her suspended in the air, and yeah, maybe she could break out of this, but she kind of didn’t want to.
She kind of wanted to see where Miranda would take her.
Still felt completely ridiculous though.
With a light shove, the ball began floating leisurely across the deck. “This is so undignified.”
Miranda kept at Shepard’s side, arms behind her back as she followed her across the room. Her uniform was still only halfway off, and her heels clicked against the floor. “Now you know how all your opponents must feel.” Their eyes met. “In the two seconds they had left before I slammed them into the ground for you.”
“We do make a good team,” Shepard admitted, before sighing when Miranda began slowly unlacing her boots one by one. When their eyes met again, Miranda smirked, flicked her fingers with another blue flash of biotic power and the bubble burst, dumping Shepard unceremoniously onto the couch.
“I suppose I can lead the way for now,” she continued, perching herself on Shepard’s lap. “You are a work in progress after all.” Miranda brushed her hair back, and with deliberate slowness, pulled the zipper of her uniform further down. Reflexively, Shepard looked away. “You are allowed to stare, Shepard.”
She swallowed. Miranda was stunning - it was generally the first thing people noticed about her, unless she had a gun pointed at your head, and, well, sometimes even then… It was impossible to keep from saying it. “You’re beautiful.”
Miranda draped herself against the backrest of the couch, eyeing Shepard’s naked form with equally naked interest. “Uh huh?” she asked, amused.
“Just wanted to say it at least once.”
She shook her head, stifling a laugh. “You’re allowed to say it, Shepard. Just as long as it’s not all you say.”
Reaching out, Shepard grabbed both ends of Miranda’s uniform and pulled her close with enough force to leave her breathless for a change. “Might be a good idea to distract my lips then,” she breathed, “just in case.”
Miranda didn’t object.
They’d kissed many times before, but never with such ardor. Imminent death would do that to you...
If ever there was a time to kiss someone like it was your last day alive, it was now, and Miranda Lawson seemed to agree quite strongly. Shepard's flimsy shirt was not likely to take the strain of her partner’s hands if she kept tearing at it for much longer.
Meanwhile, as fingers stroked the soft skin of Miranda’s back an evil smirk crossed Shepard’s lips, a desire to catch Miranda off her guard again. Her hands traveled further down, into the uniform she was still half-wearing. Shepard knew a few secrets that only biotics could appreciate, and just a little pressure applied to the right spot –
Miranda’s head shot back, “Shit!”
Making the most of the sudden distraction, Shepard got the leverage she needed to flip them over, only just barely keeping them both from tumbling to the hard floor in totally mood-destroying fashion. Breathing heavily, Miranda stared up at her in amazement. Eyes burning, she tried to draw closer, to catch their lips together again, but Shepard shook her head as her biotic field strengthened. Had to love those L5 implants; they were illegal for a reason. “You’ve made your creation too powerful, Dr. Lawson.”
Never had Miranda looked so frustrated, or so turned on. The struggling continued. “Are you seriously comparing me to Doctor Frankenstein right now?”
A smirk crossed her lips. “Not a turn-on, you’re saying?” Even if she couldn’t see it - Shepard could still feel her struggling, Miranda’s own biotic field pushing against Shepard’s barriers – testing for weaknesses, trying to wriggle out from beneath her. Any decent biotic learned how fight back when caught in a hold like this, and Miranda was good, but Shepard had the advantage in raw strength and N7 training - not all of it sanctioned by the military. “I’d like to go first. You did spend so much time putting me back together after all.”
The struggling died down, but not completely, and Miranda swallowed. “Pretty sure I already gave my consent, Shepard.”
“I just want to hear it one more time,” she said, inching closer. One million more times, really, but once more would do for now.
She smiled softly. “You have my permission… for as long as you like.”
Shepard looked her up and down before their eyes met again. “That could be a while.” With Miranda’s uniform now down below her waist, Shepard tried to slip it down further with just a knee. The maneuver was completely not suave, and considering how form-fitting the material was, very ineffective.
“Shepard?” It looked like Miranda was about to bust a gut laughing.
She was shaking her head. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
She froze, eyes wide, regarding that soft smile through tendrils of hair.
With the biotic field suddenly gone, Miranda was able to reach out and brush a hand along Shepard’s bicep. “And I know you love me. So just show me already.”
…
Miranda let out a ragged breath, the growing ball of biotic energy gradually dissipating in her outstretched hand as she finally unclenched it. Not an uncommon side-effect of having intimate relations when you were a biotic.
Shepard gave her a moment before bringing their heads together. “You know, this could get dangerous.” She still remembered being in bed alone as a teenager and the damage unintended biotic blasts had done to the objects on her dresser before she learned to control them.
“Only just now realized that, huh?”
Shepard allowed herself to sink onto Miranda’s body, feeling her breath begin to steady again. She ached still, but it was a pleasant ache. “How would you rate your patient?” she asked, eyeing Miranda’s soft smile through tousled hair.
Fingers brushed the hair from Shepard’s eyes. “Well, I would certainly say the first phase of the Lazarus project was a complete success.”
“Two years and two-billion credits well spent?”
Miranda’s lip curled upward as she stared up at the dark ceiling. “Some women will go to extraordinary lengths for a night of fantastic sex.”
“I guess I’ll have to stick around then. Make sure you get a return on your investment.”
“Or,” she mused, “I’d probably make a killing selling Shepard VI’s. Given some time, I bet they would sell well enough to recoup a decent percentage of our expenditures.” She hummed. “Possibly all of them.”
Shepard laughed. “Can I be so easily replaced?”
“Oh, I’d keep the original, of course.”
“Whew,” she replied with feigned relief. “I was worried for a second.”
“VI nerve-stims are never as good as the real thing anyway.” Shepard huffed. “Besides,” Miranda continued, still stroking her hair, “I’ve got a lot more experiments to run on you.”
Mmm. Sounded good. “Could take a long time, huh?”
“Decades at least. Possibly a lifetime.”
“Hunting the Reapers by day, and… research… by night. That does sound tempting.”
Miranda nodded. “You and me, and whoever wishes to stay on…”
Shepard slid closer. “Miranda?”
Miranda’s easy smile faded at the seriousness in her eyes. “Shepard?”
Their lips were inches apart. “I want that more than anything.”
“Well then,” she breathed, “all you need to do is survive one more mission.”
“Well, if I don’t, you could always rebuild me.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and Miranda’s expression turned deadly serious. “Don’t you dare put me through that, Shepard.”
She nodded slowly. No more irony, no more fatalism. She wanted to live. They could do this. “We’ve got the best possible crew –“
“You put together the best possible crew,” Miranda interrupted. “If anyone can get us through the next twenty-four hours, it’s you, Shepard.”
Instead of replying, she kissed the hands that pieced her back together. Despite Miranda’s questioning look, Shepard decided to keep that thought to herself. Too cheesy. “Guess I’ll have to live then, huh?”
“I guess you will.”
They lay there a while longer, Miranda stroking Shepard’s hair while they watched the motionless field of stars. Sahrabarik was out of view now, but she couldn’t quite recognize the constellations she was seeing. “I think… we should enjoy the moments left to us. However long that is.”
Miranda smiled. “I did spend two years piecing you back together, and I intend to get a return from of my investment.”
“I hope you’re enjoying what you’ve gotten so far at least?”
“I am, though I must admit, the real Commander Shepard is a lot more awkward than I expected.”
She snorted. “Surprised my awkwardness around beautiful women isn’t simply hardcoded into my DNA. I’ve had that problem my entire life.”
“The great Commander Shepard can’t talk to women?”
Shepard grunted. “Please stop prefacing my name like that.”
“The great Commander Shepard,” Miranda laughed at the look she was given, “but is she truly so great… in bed?” She laughed again at the expression on Shepard’s face.
Shepard laughed with her, bumping their foreheads together. “I hope the answer to that question wasn’t in my service record,” she said, admiring the look in Miranda’s eyes.
“It wasn’t, though I did conduct a lot of interviews. After all, it pays to be thorough.”
“Ha, I bet…” she said, looking away. “Wait. You’re not being serious, are you?”
It took a moment, but Miranda finally broke. “I’m not. There were a lot of shots of you walking in and out of some very seedy nightclubs on the Citadel though. That was a matter of public record.”
“I was in those clubs because of the mission…”
“You know, until I started working with you, I wouldn’t have believed that for a second. Now I understand all too well. I’ve seen you in Afterlife. You get red in the face every time a dancer so much as smiles at you. It’s how I realized I might have a chance.”
Speaking of red in the face…
Miranda shook her head. “Honestly, all I was able to find out was your preference for women, and mention of a few romantic entanglements before you were assigned to the Normandy. Nothing so scandalous.”
“Everyone on this ship knows far too much about me.” Kasumi, Kelly, EDI, and Miranda… Miranda watched her curiously, and Shepard sighed. “It’s okay if you know. I find myself not minding so much.”
She nodded slowly, relieved. “To be honest, I doubt all my early research could be classified as essential.”
“Sometimes the knowledge we pick up doesn’t truly become useful until years later…” Shepard offered, amused.
“Good. Because I’d like to know more.”
“Is there more to know?”
“Plenty.”
“Such as?” Miranda’s fingers reached out and tugged down on her shirt collar, and she peeked brazenly at Shepard’s breasts, earning a laugh. “Haven’t you seen it all at this point?”
“Seen, yes. But while speculation and simulations have their place, nothing quite compares to live testing in the field." She licked her lips. "Rigorous testing.”
Shepard laughed. She laughed so hard she buried her face in Miranda’s neck.
“Am I really so amusing?”
“I think the test subject is reacting well to your stimuli."
“Much better than my expectations, to be honest.”
Finally, she pulled back. “The proctor forgot to account for how charming she is. Her presence might be skewing the results.”
“You just might be the first person to ever call me charming.”
She frowned a little. “Their loss.”
“Not really. I might have blasted them through a window for saying it.”
Shepard squeezed her. “You know just what to say to make me feel special.”
“Well, I did spend two years of my life rebuilding you from a charred, frozen corpse.”
She laughed again. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve heard since I watched Fleet and Flotilla with Tali.”
Miranda feigned shock, “And I wasn’t invited?”
“Funny; at the time I tried to imagine what your response would be if I invited you. Got to admit, it was tempting to ask just to see the expression on your face.”
“I would’ve said yes.”
A missed opportunity then. Shepard hoped there wouldn’t be many more. God help her, she wanted to seize every last one and make the absolute most of them.
“Strange though,” Miranda continued. “I wouldn’t have thought romance was your thing either.”
She drew herself over her. Their bodies fit together very nicely. “You bring it out of me, it seems.”
“Hmm,” Miranda said, eyes raking her over again, positively indecently. With a flash of biotic energy, Shepard found herself being abruptly forced over, right over the edge of the couch, but Miranda had just enough control of her powers to keep them both from crashing to the floor. Instead, Shepard landed gently on her meditation mat. She swallowed, entranced at the hungry look in Miranda’s eyes. “Let’s see what else I can bring out you, shall I?”
…
The thing about the SR-2 was how easy it was to lose track of time. On the original Normandy, there were Alliance regs to follow, video conferences with admirals that one could never be late for, and strict watches to keep.
The SR-2 still had the schedules – mirroring Alliance standard practice - but in other little ways life on the new Normandy was just a little more casual than an Alliance vessel could ever get away with. The feel was just different, as if time didn’t flow quite the same way out here on the Traverse.
Shepard had no idea what time it was now, for instance.
Hopefully, EDI would let her know when the relay was in range.
She’d hate to appear on the bridge topless, not least because Miranda had ruined her favorite workout shirt which was now lying in two separate pieces on the floor.
Miranda hummed, shifting beside her, skin against skin. It was becoming clear that this couch was not particularly comfortable to lay on for extended periods, which might better explain why no one ever caught Samara sleeping on it. Still, Shepard had to admit, having Miranda Lawson lying naked at her side was more than making up for the deficiencies.
She let her hand slide lower and earned a snort for her efforts. “Again?”
“The night is young,” Shepard offered. "And you’re so beautiful."
Miranda rolled her eyes. “It’s always night in space, Shepard.”
A wicked grin spread across her lips, “So it is. I guess we’ll just have to stay like this forever then, huh?”
“Hmm. I suppose we will.”
As she moved to capture those lips again, Shepard caught a subtle change in the room’s lighting. With the ship burning its way through the system, everything had been cast in a pale blue fire for hours now, but now there was another light, a warm yellow, something that didn’t correspond to any star or planet Shepard knew of.
Rising, she peered over the couch and saw the door, its’ lock glowing a dim yellow – secured – instead of red - inaccessible. Her brow furrowed. “Um…”
Her change of expression had Miranda awkwardly pulling herself up the couch so she could see. The trace of fear that crossed her eyes almost would’ve been worth the humiliation if Samara appeared at the doorway just now.
Instead, it was EDI’s voice they heard, coming through the intercom. “Commander, the battle simulations I’ve been running are complete. Did you wish for me to unlock the observation deck now?”
Miranda and Shepard both said ‘no’ at the exact same moment.
Shepard, realizing they were both covering themselves with their hands, snickered like a child and buried her head in Miranda’s hair.
“Understood, Ms. Lawson. Sleep well.” A pause. “You too, Commander.”
She exhaled a deep breath against Miranda’s neck. “Well, I guess EDI knows…” she said into the silence.
Miranda shook her head. “Everyone knows, Shepard.”
She stilled in her grasp. “Everyone?”
“Well,” she conceded, “maybe not Jacob.”
Hah. At least there was that.
Smiling softly, Miranda idly brushed Shepard’s hair, and damn, if she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall asleep just like this.
“So,” Miranda drawled, “Ready for bed?”
Pushing herself up on an elbow, Shepard shook her head. “Actually, I’m kind of hungry.”
“Me too,” Miranda said, raking over Shepard’s naked form, from her straining biceps, to her breasts, to the curve of her neck, and finally her eyes. She grinned wickedly, and Shepard shivered. “But let’s eat first.”
…
It turned out that Miranda hadn’t been joking; Zaeed really had cooked up a feast of sorts. Five minutes in the common area and Shepard still wasn’t exactly sure what he’d left stewing in the giant pot, but it smelled good, contained vaguely meat shaped lumps floating in a thick brown liquid, and he’d certainly made a lot of it before leaving a mess in the kitchen and returning to what could charitably be called his quarters.
The contents of the pot looked like food, at least. Whether or not what Shepard and Miranda put on their plates tasted like food was still very much in question.
Samara was already at the commissary table, going over a datapad with a half-empty bowl sitting to the side.
She wasn’t dead, which was a good enough sign for Shepard, and though Miranda didn’t look as convinced, she took a bowl and sat down beside her, across the table from Samara.
A long moment passed as Shepard mustered her courage. Hopefully, most of whatever this used to be was originally Terran fauna. She’d rather not die of total organ shutdown mere hours before the final battle just because Zaeed had to add some authentic Palavan spices to this mystery stew of his.
It wasn’t uncommon for mercs to develop immunities to poisons either naturally as a result of serving on far-flung alien worlds, or through the use of legal drugs, so the concern was a real one.
Hmm. The fact that he hadn’t hung around to gauge everyone’s opinions wasn’t a great sign.
Finally, Samara took another bite. “It’s actually quite good,” she said, noticing their stares. “A warrior should never fight on an empty stomach.”
“Zaaed said that?” Shepard asked.
“His language was more colorful, but that was the essence of his point, yes.”
Miranda remained unconvinced. She pushed the food around her plate for a minute or two, casting occasional glances at Shepard, then at Samara as they ate. There was a pink cast to her cheeks when she finally did speak, “I am sorry I interrupted your meditation earlier, Samara.”
She arched an eyebrow. Miranda wasn’t the kind of person to hide from her mistakes, but she also wasn’t the sort to apologize for trivialities. “It is of no consequence. I am prepared for what lies ahead.”
Well, that makes one of us, Shepard thought. Her fork scraped against the plate. She still wasn’t sure what she was eating, but it tasted fantastic after the last hour's... exertions. “Do asari always meditate before battle?” Samara never appeared to do anything else aboard ship, but Shepard had never known Liara to do it, not even on the night before Ilos.
“A justicar spends her time in meditation when there is nothing immediate to occupy herself with. As for other asari… I’ve known bloodthirsty mercenaries as dedicated to meditation as any justicar, and I’ve known the wisest of councilors who consider it a waste of time. It is, to a great degree, a matter of preference.”
“You were a mercenary once, where you not?” Miranda asked.
Again there was that slight quirk of the lip. “For many years.”
For many hundreds of years, Shepard thought.
“Oh,” Tali said, peering around the corner. “Hello.”
She was greeted with a round of nods.
“Someone made dinner?”
Again, Shepard nodded. “Zaeed.”
Tali was probably making a face, it was hard to tell, but the way she froze suggested that she, like everyone else, hadn’t expected such a thing from him. Still, food was food, and she cautiously approached the kitchen counter. Shepard needn't tell her not to actually try it, it was just natural quarian curiosity.
“You’ve been on a lot of suicide missions, I imagine?” Shepard continued.
“You might say that,” Samara said with a slight smile. “My days as a mercenary were quite eventful, and I survived many missions that were considered hopeless at the time.”
A cautious hand on the ladle, Tali watched Samara intently. “Any advice for this one?”
When Samara spoke, her voice, as always, was the picture of serenity, “Whatever people might say about the combat prowess of the justicars, there is no more potent weapon than a team,” her gaze shifted from Tali to Shepard, then Miranda, “fiercely loyal and dedicated to one another. I am certain that if anyone can succeed, it is the crew of this vessel.”
“You sound so sure.”
“I’ve never been a part of a team like this one. Scientists, biotics, engineers from eight different species; and every one a highly skilled warrior.”
Tali snorted.
“You included, Tali,” she said over her shoulder.
Shepard smiled, certain that Tali was blushing under behind that mask. She whole-heartedly agreed with the assessment.
Tali shook her head and gave a soft laugh. “You’re always so calm. Maybe I should try some asari meditation.” She’d brought a drink with her and sat it down on the table. “I might be a little too high-strung right now.”
“It’s probably all the coffee you’ve been drinking,” Shepard suggested. Well, the quarian equivalent at any rate, which was green and sweet smelling. It hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that their quarian engineer was always extra jittery in the morning.
“Hmm. Maybe you’re right.” The coffee was pushed away, but then Tali stopped. “Um, Shepard?”
“Hmm?”
“What are you wearing?”
She blanched. Samara hadn’t said anything this entire time, but now she watched Shepard without bothering to conceal her amusement. “Just… um… something I found.” On the floor. Of the crew’s bathroom. Because someone had ruined her favorite workout shirt.
Miranda pretended to find her dinner fascinating.
“Oh,” was thankfully all she said. While she stood and looked over the array of drinks scattered around the counter, Shepard spared a glance to her right only to find Miranda studying her closely.
She blushed, a reaction that grew more pronounced when a leg brushed against her own. Two years, Shepard wanted to say, two years and you’re still not tired of looking at my face.
Either Samara was truly engrossed in the asari text scrolling on her datapad, or she was being charitable by pretending not to notice her ship’s captain and XO making eyes at each other. “If you like,” she said, only now looking up, “we could continue where we left off. And you would be welcome to join us, Miss Lawson.”
Shepard shook her head. If meditation had been difficult this morning, it was going to be absolutely impossible after the events of the last ninety-minutes. Fears of an armada of Collectors lying in wait on the other end of the relay would now have to compete with extremely graphic memories of Miranda Lawson writhing beneath her, crying out her name in pleasure.
That was just not going to work.
“I think I’ve had about all the meditation I can stomach for one day. No offense, Samara.”
“None taken. You’ve done well. Asari meditation is intended for those with an asari’s physiology. There are not a few matriarchs who have failed to grasp the fundamentals as well as you have.”
Miranda frowned at her mostly uneaten meal and looked surprised to find Samara watching her, waiting for a response. “I should probably stick to filling out reports.”
Tali sighed from across the kitchen. “If I spend any more time prying into the engine, I’m going to go near-sighted.” She’d moved on to the fridge, still looking for something that wouldn’t kill her, “Do you think I could learn something from asari meditation?”
“All species could benefit from it,” Samara replied, “However, the techniques I am trained in rely on the use of one’s biotic powers.”
She nodded at that, head disappearing into the fridge’s depths.
“Although,” Samara continued, turning back to her companions at the table, “when I was a mercenary, I did have a ritual I would sometimes indulge in before combat.”
Miranda looked up, “Oh? What’s that?”
A ghost of a smile crossed Samara’s lips. She held Miranda’s gaze for a long moment, then Shepard’s, then returned her attention to her food. “I believe you both are already familiar with that particular ritual,” she said casually, “I have nothing to teach you in that regard.”
Screwing her eyes shut and letting her hair fall over her face, Miranda turned an impressive shade of red, and Shepard had to cover her mouth. It was the only way to keep from laughing.
They just managed to compose themselves when Tali reappeared and sat down at the table, thankfully oblivious.
Instead of one of Zaeed’s drinks, she’d chosen water which she drank through a straw, or whatever the technical quarian term was for it. The lights above her head flickered briefly.
“So, um, has the ship been acting strange for anyone else lately?” she asked. Setting the drink down, she waved her omni tool at the lights.
Both Miranda and Shepard looked slowly over at her. Samara continued to eat. “I have noticed that, yes,” Miranda eventually offered.
“I was trapped in the elevator with Garrus about an hour ago.”
Shepard coughed. “Oh, um, what was that like?”
“He’s actually pretty interesting once you get him away from the Thanix cannon.”
Shepard and Miranda shared another look.
Then Tali slumped, “At least until he remembered his suit’s shield generator was compatible with the elevator’s power unit. Then it only too him a few minutes to get the door open and he went back to the weapon’s bay,” she turned to the door in the distance, “He said he was worried that EDI’s strange behavior might affect the modifications he had made to the cannon’s tracking systems.”
“I… see.” Again, Shepard and Miranda looked at each other. “EDI?”
“Yes, Shepard?”
“Your systems okay now?”
“Yes, Shepard. Do you require a door to be unlocked,” there was a pause, “or locked?”
She shut her eyes, biting back a laugh. “No, EDI. Thank you. How long do we have?”
“Estimated time to arrival at the Omega-4 relay: twelve hours fifteen minutes.”
Enough time for a very, very long nap.
Or, her train of thought continued as she glanced at Miranda, a very, very long something else.
It was hard to tell what everyone else was thinking. Samara was as unreadable as ever. Tali stared at her cup, perhaps thinking of Garrus, or maybe just missing Sergeant Gardner and his unexpected ability to cook diverse dextro-protein based quarian recipes.
Miranda, however, was still watching Shepard intently, and when their eyes met, she bit her lip and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Something about the motion said that she didn’t feel much like napping. Something positively youthful was in her expression now, an openness and eagerness that Shepard had never seen before, not in public like this.
Well, they did have twelve more hours, and honestly, Shepard could really get used to seeing Miranda looking so disheveled.
Wordlessly, her eyes darted up in the general direction of her cabin and Miranda’s eyes followed.
They shared a smile.
Well, that was settled then.
Tali broke the silence, “You think we’ll survive?”
No one said a word.
Honestly, Shepard still didn’t know. All the time they were pursuing Saren, failure had been a distinct possibility, but Saren had been running too, desperate to find that final link to bring back the Reapers. His haste had worked to their advantage. There had been no time for him to prepare an effective way to stop his pursuers.
And there had been little time for those pursuers to agonize about what had gone wrong.
Except after Virmire.
How had they gotten through that loss? Shepard couldn't even remember.
But maybe Samara was right. This crew truly was something unique: they'd banded together, all these alien races, and formed something the galaxy had never seen before. And now they had built on everything that had made the SR-1 so effective, learned from their mistakes and pushed forward. Shepard was sure they were going to make the men and women they lost over Alchera proud. And they'd make Kaiden proud too.
It was Miranda who finally replied to Tali’s question. Slowly, she reached out and put her hand on Shepard’s. “I think we will.”
Bright glowing eyes were only just visible behind her helmet, but Shepard could see them looking at Miranda, then darting to her, then at their joined hands. She took another quiet sip from her drink.
Yeah, Jacob was probably the only one on the ship who didn’t know by now.
Possibly also Jack.
"That shirt's a little tight on you, Shepard.”
She scratched the back of her neck and laughed.
Miranda leaned against the table. "Her arms are really testing the tensile strength of the fabric, aren't they?"
Tali started to cough and Samara gently patted her on the back
Shepard quickly rose from her chair, “I should go.”
Miranda rose at the same instant. “I’ll join you.”
“Tell me,” Samara asked, long after Miranda and Shepard had departed, “Exactly how long was it before Garrus repaired the elevator?”
Tali canted her head. Almost four months into this mission, and she and Samara had rarely spoken. Samara regretted that; Tali reminded her a little of herself at a very young age; high-strung, enormously inquisitive, and aching to connect with people. “Um… about six and a half minutes.” She definitely sounded less grateful and more disappointed.
“I see.”
She absently tapped the table. “I think I learned more about him in the few minutes we were trapped than I have in all the years I’ve known him.” Sighing, she rose, looking, Samara thought, wistfully at the door to the weapon’s control bay. “Might as well check how the engine is doing. See you later, Samara.”
Samara canted her head, watching her go.
And everything was again quiet.
“EDI?”
“Yes, Samara?”
“Could you simulate a life support failure in the weapon’s control center?”
“Yes. However, I estimate a ninety-seven percent chance that the affected occupant would not evacuate and instead choose to take it as a challenge.”
Hmm. EDI was right, of course. Samara frowned at her empty plate. This one was going to be tricky.