A/N: I can't tell if this is boring or not. Just a wee thing that popped into my head while eating dinner. No relation to the 'perfect series' whatsoever.
It only happened once, the commander eating in her XO's office, but somehow it was all the crew of the Normandy could whisper about for days.
It started one evening just a bit after Gardner had announced that dinner was ready. The dextro-amino servings were called first, as there was less to make and so it was easier to prepare, and then the humans slowly trailed in after. There was no real set time of course, but even still everyone seemed to come together at once. Shepard had successfully created a sense of unity aboard the ship, and as a result the people around her seemed to relish in each other's company. They would meet each dinner for mediocre food and bland drink, laughter and merriment abound. It was a happy routine, enjoyed by all who took part.
The day it happened however, Shepard had stepped off the elevator and noticed that a trend had begun to take place. It was not the first time she rounded the corner to find the majority of her crew present without Miranda's company. In fact, she noted, it had been four days since she had left her office during dinner at all.
Shepard knew what had happened four days ago, as did everyone else on the ship, which was likely the reason for Miranda's absence. Certainly, there was no great love for Jack resounding through the hearts and minds of those serving on the Normandy. That did not mean they did not understand or sympathize with her however. Miranda's refusal to truly acknowledge the wrongdoings of Cerberus involving Jack's past, united with the rather violent argument that followed, had turned many heads. It would be fair to admit the support for Jack's 'side' had been overwhelming, a sentiment that the commander herself shared.
Still, to vilify a single woman for the actions of others was not a behavior Shepard condoned. She questioned Gardner as she retrieved her plate, and found that the woman had indeed been making snack runs in the dead of night when the risk of bumping into her crewmates was low. Troubled by the information, Shepard bypassed her expectant companions seated at the table to head for the cabin door.
She entered without knocking of course, as had become standard protocol. Nothing on any version of the Normandy seemed to ever be off limits to the great Commander Shepard, no matter who had paid for it. The resident hadn't been prepared for company, let alone a visit from a superior. The hour was relatively late, and so she lay atop the covers of her bed, barefoot and pantsless, an obnoxiously large book in hand. Only when the door closed behind Shepard did Miranda move, sitting up suddenly, reading material long forgotten as she pulled down the over sized shirt to reclaim her modesty.
Shepard smiled at the response, leaving her plate on the officer's desk before retreating from the room. Miranda breathed deeply, running a hand through her hair as she sorted through her distress. In just a few moments the door opened again as Shepard had returned quickly, a cup of water in each hand, the handles of two forks wedged between her lips. She set the cups on the short table in front of the couch, before removing the utensils and moving back for the plate.
After she was comfortably seated on the couch, plate in hand, extra fork resting on the table, Shepard gave Miranda and expectant look. The woman shook her head quickly, exuding defiance even as her traitorous stomach called out for attention. That earned a laugh from the intruder, which in turn led to the frantic and futile struggle with keeping the red from one's cheeks. As the woman on the couch shrugged and began to pull food into her mouth, Miranda's resolve weakened. With each bite it wavered until suddenly, unbelievably, she found herself just a cushion away from her commander, fork in hand.
It felt like a defeat, an admittance that gave way to some form of weakness, and had anybody else pushed her in such a way they would not have been treated so civilly. But Shepard was Shepard, and one did not destroy two years of hard labor in a fit of simple irritation. With such a woman it was far more sensible to play their game. To talk their talks and follow the orders issued no matter the inconvenience. Miranda did as the woman bid, not out of desire, but out of duty, and no matter how many times her heart insisted otherwise, she would always believe that.
Shepard didn't speak, even as Miranda consented to her offer and began to share the plate. There was no triumphant laugh, no knowing smirk or insufferable smugness. There was only a grateful smile, one that unnerved the other woman. In no way was somebody allowed to be appreciative that she was taking care of herself, the very thought was obscene.
Miranda watched as the other woman bounced happily as she chewed, a slight movement that somebody observing might have described as cute or charming. Not Miranda of course, other people. She found her mind drifting to the insignificant things, how she stabbed but Shepard scooped, how Shepard gulped but she sipped. Stupid things, little nuances that distracted from the big picture.
That huge thing, that enormous uncertainty that was growing by the instant. It was a rarity for Miranda- no, more than that. A completely new thing, indescribable in its novelty. There was no name she could attribute to it, no classification. It was an emotion, curling its way through her skin, making the smiles brighter and the glances more concentrated.
Miranda wanted to say something as the time passed and the plate emptied, every inch of her mind screamed to rip apart whatever was occurring. It was new, unprecedented, it could not be good. She shivered as the commander's eyes raked over her cabin, combing its contents with such attentiveness that Miranda felt almost unbearably exposed. Sometimes the eyes would stop their journey and Shepard would smile, or nod, or maddeningly look as though she were holding back a laugh. At those times it took every ounce of Miranda's willpower not to turn in her seat and follow the line of sight. She needed to not look bothered, needed to prove she wasn't fazed.
It was nothing, this, it was only dinner. Miranda was able to remind herself of that periodically up until the moment their eyes locked over the plate. Shepard's attitude was different then, more embodying a comfortable sage than a careful explorer. The woman had obtained a new knowledge in her visit, one that Miranda wasn't able to consciously fathom, but was feeling the effect of. That emotion, that feeling, was feeding off their locked gaze, it was absolutely gorging itself.
Miranda, against all of her instincts, against everything she had ever been taught by both others and herself, could not bring herself to smother it immediately. No, she broke every rule she had ever created, and let it grow. It expanded as the seconds passed, and only when it grew so big, when she felt so warm she could hardly stand it, did she look away.
It was some time before she could turn back towards the plate, some pull inside of her urging to make this last for as long as she was able. Though it confused and alarmed her, though she was sure she would never fully understand it, she obliged, eating as slowly as possible. Even still, with the extra effort, it wasn't long until there was but a single noodle left on the plate Shepard held between them.
Miranda eyed it carefully, as though it might be some sort of trap. She found she didn't know how to proceed from here, she wasn't sure of the proper protocol. When she glanced up at Shepard to try and get more of a grasp on the situation, she found the woman grinning down at her wildly. Not one of the reassuring smiles on the battlefield or the satisfied smirks after a particularly bad joke that Miranda had grown accustomed to, but a new expression. One that was mischievous and feral and full of what Miranda was sure was some sort of fiendish intent. In a flash it was in her mouth, and Shepard chewed the final bite with delight, never taking hers eyes off Miranda for an instant.
It was nearly impossible to suffer through the silence then, and Miranda wasn't sure how she had made it. She was hot, uncomfortable, and maybe a little itchy. As Shepard's eyes trailed off into some unknown corner of the room Miranda was tempted to shift along the couch, or perhaps to scream. She needed something, anything, any sort of way to break the air that had settled between them. All at once, Shepard was too close though she had hardly moved an inch since she first sat down. Nevertheless, panic was beginning to bubble up into Miranda's throat. The longer they waited, the worse it became, until suddenly, the stillness was broken.
"You know," Shepard's words ripped through the silence with such a disturbingly thoughtful resonance, Miranda was forced to be alert and calm, certain something vital was to be said. Something that gave their shared silence shape, formed it into meaning. How could they sit together, conversing with closed mouths for so long a time, only to move forward into nothing? There was going to be a revelation, an explanation as to why this was affecting her so. Why there was that pull in her stomach, that incomprehensible sense of anticipation for some unknown outcome.
"you're quite short," She licked the fork in her hand with one slow motion, "when you're not in heels."
The tight bundle of expectation curling in her core unfurled throughout her body, reaching to her very fingertips as the cool realization of disappointment swept through her veins. Whatever had been occurring dissipated in an instant, a slow building ire quickly taking its place. All thoughts of the foreign feeling were forgotten when the low tides of annoyance began sweeping higher over her mind.
Shepard stood then, the fork was clean, the cups were empty, and the last noodle was gone. She collected the dishes resolutely, stacking them neatly atop one another before flashing a warm smile and turning towards the door. It wasn't until she had almost reached the door that she paused, turning back to observe the woman on the couch.
"They don't hate you, you know," Shepard finally said. "Sit out there; open your mouth a bit. I don't expect lifelong friendships, but who knows? They might be surprised."
Miranda watched her silently, unsure of how the words made her feel. That feeling was gone, yes, and annoyance was certainly taking over more quickly with each phrase Shepard uttered, and yet… there was a linger of that nameless emotion, something that the woman who was raised to know everything, had never experienced.
"Me," she corrected quietly, always having the last word, always being correct.
Shepard's head tilted slowly, "What?"
"I believe," Miranda's confidence grew with the knowledge of superiority, she was in familiar territory, the affirmation that somebody had made a mistake that she now was charged with correcting, "you meant to say that I might be surprised."
With a curious laugh, one that bubbled forth and swept away all traces of agitation or confidence, Shepard responded easily, "I would never make the mistake of assuming you could ever be surprised, Miss Lawson."
It was the moment when Shepard was leaving her room, when Miranda traced her movements with roaming eyes, lingering in all the places she shouldn't, that the officer realized something quite surprising about herself indeed. As the door closed she wished with every fiber of her being that she could prove to her commander just how wrong she was.
A/N: I tend to enjoy writing dialogue so I wanted to force myself to try something different. More serious than I'm used to, so I don't really know how to feel about it. *sigh* I'm too immature for this stuff. Anywho, can you guys tell that I'm obsessed with the inner workings of Miranda's mind yet?
This is going to remain open until I finish my series and see if I want to get back to it. But for now, consider it a one-shot I suppose.