This story is AU. Every up to the Suicide Mission is canon, but things diverge from there. Miranda's infertility has been retconned. While I won't give specific warnings for fear of spoilers, this story earns it's M for both (consensual) sex and violence. On a lighter note, longtime readers will notice a few nods to Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. The stories aren't in continuity-Matt would kill this Shep.

The Illusive Man took a long drag on his cigarette. "I understand your new command center is operational."

Oleg clasped his hands behind his back. Fatigue settled over him like poorly-fitted armor, and he longed for nothing more than to sleep for a week, but his duties must be attended to. "Yes. Whatever Ms. T'Loak's faults, Afterlife held some of the best monitoring and security software in the Terminus. And very defensible, should it come to that. I'm confident that we'll soon begin to make strides in pacifying the population."

"Yes, I'm aware of the unrest you're facing. Don't worry, Oleg. You'll find a way. Holding Omega is critical to our research and to keeping us mobile in this sector. I'm confident you'll do whatever's necessary to achieve our goals." He frowned slightly, though his pleasant tone didn't change. "Well, perhaps not everything."

Oleg grimaced. This was an old argument and not one he was particularly interested in having at the moment. "The implants are still new and unproven. With all due respect, sir, I must continue to decline them on behalf of my men." There were rumors that the implants did more than improve reflexes and healing ability, that they implanted knowledge in the recipients mind and altered their very thoughts. Overblown nonsense, of course, but he preferred to leave headlong charges into the unknown to Kai Leng. "Call me old-fashioned."

"Yes, well, you aren't the only one. Miranda also refused them."

"Miranda?" The room, already chilly from the need to conserve power, grew colder until it reminded him of the Siberian wastes Tolstoy and Dostoevsky had so thoroughly described. "She is well, then?"

The Illusive Man snuffed out his cigarette as his frown deepened. "She's recovered from her injuries, but the experience beyond the relay left her shaken. Melancholy."

"Is there anything I can do?" Oleg barely resisted the urge to pace. Miranda had been impaled by a piece of falling debris during her escape from the Collector base. It would've killed anyone else, and she had been hospitalized for months. Oleg had begged for a furlough so he could visit her, but the Illusive Man had insisted that humanity needed him to continue eliminating pirate anchorages. And then there had been that business with the adjutants, and he had truly had no time.

"As a matter of fact, there is. Project Zephyr isn't moving as quickly as I'd like. I've assigned Miranda to the science team."

"She's coming here?" After all the months of blood and death, of having to put down a rebellion after rebellion from the very people who should have welcomed the order he had brought. To have something to look forward to again…

"The Reapers will be here soon. We're going to need those shock troops." The Illusive Man swirled his shot glass. "And who knows? Perhaps the company of an old friend is what Miranda needs to restore her faith." And with that, the QEC went dark.

"Friend," he murmured to himself. The Illusive Man had always been observant; it was one of the reasons Oleg had chosen to follow his vision of the world. He would have known that Oleg and Miranda had been far more than friends after she came to Cerberus. The second of two women he had ever truly lost his head over. He had seen her several times in the intervening years, and every time she was as beautiful and commanding as any queen from legend, and every time a small part of him wanted to throw himself at her feet. A very small part of him, true—as the Reaper threat grew more apparent, chivalry and courtly love and simple foolish lust were drowned out by more practical concerns.

He had come here on business nearly twenty years ago. His aide at the time, a British fellow whose name he didn't even remember, had shown up half-drunk on the arm of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Pale, with no signs of the hard life so sadly common among the station's residents. Her hair had cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall. Perhaps, if that had been all, he would have recovered himself. But her eyes had been an uncommon shade halfway between blue and gray, the sort that simply didn't occur without dyes anymore. Her gaze had been shrewd and appraising, but there had been amusement there too. Carefully veiled and guarded, as if she had wanted to laugh, but dared not. For the first time since his wife's death, lust had spiraled through him wild and uncontrolled.

And then she had stolen his wallet. He had chased her over half the station trying to get it back. And then…

A dead end. He had her now. She turned to him, no fear in those blue eyes. "Most people aren't so tenacious about getting their wallet back. But most people aren't carrying around very strange and encrypted ID cards. I wonder, if I spent a few days trying to break it, who would you really be?"

"That's not your concern."

"Oh, I rather think it is… Cerberus." She held his wallet up and out of his grasp as she took a step toward him. "I know your type. Masters of the universe, like my father."

Only years of discipline prevented him from gaping at her. "What makes you think I'm Cerberus?"

"The way you stand, the way you carry yourself. Military. Real military, not what passes for it out here. And your taste in clothes is far too good for most merc captains. You're human. Add in the ID, and it's simple, really." Another step forward. "What do I have to do to join?"

"Cerberus, and I'm most assuredly not Cerberus, doesn't just hand out memberships like a garden club. Pickpocketing and confidence games will make you more money, in any case."

"Money? You think this is about money?" She laughed, a bitter, broken, humorless laugh that he had heard often enough in the field, but sounded unnatural coming from the beautiful, poised creature before him. "My father isn't a kind man, but he's very rich and influential. We had… differences of opinion. I left. He's still sending mercenaries after me. I need a protector. And Cerberus is powerful enough to frighten even Henry Lawson."

Henry Lawson? He knew that name. The Wizard of Brisbane who had grown children like cabbages in an attempt to create perfection. Only one daughter had survived to adolescence, and she was rumored to be smarter, faster, and stronger than even a gene-modded soldier. "You're Miranda Lawson?"

"The same. You can't tell me Cerberus wouldn't be interested in my abilities." She tossed him the wallet. "This was child's play."

She was right. Cerberus embodied the best in humanity. And here, if she was everything she was rumored to be, was the best of humanity. "I would have to try you out, make sure you could be of use to us."

"Try me out?" The same, broken bitter laugh. "But of course men must try me out." Another step forward. He could see her eyes more clearly now. And beneath the irony, there was something cold and dead. He saw it in the mirror every Armistice Day. Her hands ran over his chest. "I could be good for Cerberus. And for you."

He froze. A better man wouldn't have even been tempted. But he… he allowed himself to think of it. It would be the simplest thing in the world to take her back to his hotel and have his fill of her. He could even make sure she enjoyed it.

But no. He wasn't a monster. He was a Cerberus officer. And Cerberus officers did not prey on women half their age. They did not take advantage of the desperate. "Oh no, my dear. It's work that Cerberus will want from you, day after day and year after year. Not a quick roll in the sheets."

"The car's ready, sir. We can leave for the Gozu district whenever you want."

Speaking of more practical concerns… "I'll be right there, Matthews."

The streets around the command center and Omega Control had long since been emptied of civilians, both for the safety of his men and that of the civilians themselves. The ground was clean, free from the muck and mire that was so omnipresent every time he had come here as a visitor. No scent of refugees assaulted his nostrils. Posters adorned with the Cerberus logo replaced advertisements for flesh shows. No desperate souls begging for food or offering their bodies. Here at least, there was progress.

And yet… In the distance, Oleg could see the force fields separating the Green Zone from the Gozu District, the energy writhing and pulsing like fire. One of the many gifts their research at Avernus had granted. They could vaporize flesh or metal on contact. Ideal for stopping even an army of husks. And soon, perhaps, victory would be his and he could put fields to their intended purpose.

Are you so sure of that? "The guerrilla wins if he does not lose. The conventional army loses if it does not win." And the Talons are not yet losing.

Oleg shook his head. He would win. The heroic guerrilla who finally drove the occupier from his home was a romantic figure, but history was littered with his failures. The Taiping Rebellion. The Philippine-American War. Omega would be another triumph for the conventional army. Humanity would not accept his failure.

"Ready, sir?" Matthews was his usual sober, unsmiling self, but today he seemed even more grim than usual, his brows knitted together and his shoulders hunched with tension.

"Yes, Corporal," Oleg said as he approached the car. It had once been an ordinary Tennokot—a fast, maneuverable work of art, the sort of car he and Miranda had both loved for their own reasons, but the war had changed it too. Oleg entered the passenger side door. "Engage the shields."

"Aye, aye." Matthews pressed a button on the dashboard, and the car was wreathed in an orange glow. Not only would it allow them to pass through the force field unharmed, it would allow the car to shrug off a hit from anything less powerful than a Cain. Unfortunately, certain compromises had to be made to prevent the eezo core from being prematurely wrecked, and they crawled along at a pathetic sixty kilometers an hour.

It gave Oleg plenty of time to confirm that the progress was limited to the Green Zone. Here the streets were narrow and twisting, choked with both filth and people. The shields blotted out sound, but Oleg watched as they pantomimed life. Vendors hawked what was left of their goods while a prostitute hawked herself. Oleg stared at her as they passed. The clothing had been of good quality once upon a time, a bright brilliant red, but now it was stained with Omega's ever present brown. Her skin was pale and stark contrast to her dirty dark hair and…

"Is something wrong, General?"

Oleg shook his head. "Merely remembering. I received a call from the Illusive Man. Miranda Lawson will be taking over as head of the science division."

"So she's finally out of the hospital? I don't care what kind of superior healing she's supposed to have, it was a miracle she survived. I've seen men hit with heavy weapons that had smaller holes in them."

"Yes, she recovered." Matthews had been the last person to serve under Miranda; here was a chance for decent intel, unfiltered by official channels. "The Illusive Man mentioned that she was melancholy. Was it because of her injuries?"

Matthews didn't answer for almost a minute. "I shouldn't gossip."

Cold swept over Oleg. "Don't think of it as gossip. We'll be working very closely with Operative Lawson. If there's something wrong, I need to know so that we can accommodate her to the best of our abilities."

Matthews sighed. "The lower decks rumor was that she and Commander Shepard were involved. I never saw anything definite, but they both seemed a lot more chipper when the other one was around, and Chambers swore she saw both of them coming out of the elevator with their uniforms mussed."

"And now Shepard is in an Alliance prison. I suppose that would upset anyone." Oleg closed his eyes and crushed the ember of jealousy that threatened to rise up. He had followed Shepard's career the way he might have that of anyone who had the potential to be either ally or enemy. His actions at Elysium had been heroic and completing the mission to eliminate the Collector threat and secure their base without any casualties had been nothing short of inspired. He was a man ruthlessly committed to the mission. A good match for Miranda if someone had forced Oleg to say so.

"Well, it's not just that. When he got back from Arathot, the first thing he did was go to her office. I heard shouting through the door. Shepard left a few minutes later, and Lawson took dinner in her office that night. Neither of them ever said anything, but I don't think they said more than three words to each other for the rest of the mission. He definitely didn't visit her in medbay."

A romantic disappointment then, and a serious one if Miranda had allowed it to affect her. Stupid boy to let her slip through his fingers.

The car stopped. Outpost Theta was their headquarters in the Gozu District and critical to maintaining what control they could over the hotbed of Talon activity. Captain Prescott was waiting on him. His dark hair was buzzed close his face, and his features were sharp and pointed, giving him a vaguely ratlike appearance "A pleasure to see you, General."

"Likewise, Captain." They shook hands and hurried inside. Talon snipers were bold, and Outpost Epsilon had lost two men inside their own perimeter a week earlier. "What did you want to tell me?"

"We can't sustain many more losses like we took in the last raid. Down over thirty percent thanks to those Talon cuttlebones. If I ever get my hands on that turian bitch…"

"I read the casualty reports. Kandros' continued attacks are infuriating, but it's our responsibility to realize what gaps in our own strategy are permitting them."

"Of course," he repeated with all the enthusiasm of a schoolboy rattling off Latin conjugations. "But we aren't the only ones the Talons managed to piss off. An old friend in Eclipse tells me that they're willing to sell a couple of thousand LOKI mechs to us cheap as long as we use them against the Talons."

Eclipse. They had their hands in every slaving operation from here to Ilium. He had led campaign after campaign in an attempt to shatter them only to find that they had the survivability of cockroaches. "No. The VIs are too simplistic."

Prescott shrugged. "For some things, but not for sentry duty and civilian containment. Every shot the Talons take at a mech is a shot that they aren't taking at us."

War made for such strange, disgusting bedfellows. "I'll have some of the techs examine the VI core. If they can be turned into something useful—"

"Money first," said a woman's voice from somewhere nearby.

"I promise I'll pay. But the captain and the general are right next door. I don't want to be peeling potatoes for the next month. Let's just get it over with. I promise I'm good for it."

"I can't spend promises."

Oleg raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you had best remind your subordinates that fraternization on base is strictly prohibited. And that the walls are very thin."

Prescott turned a deep red. "Excuse me while I go kill that son of a bitch."

"Don't bother. We're short on manpower, remember? I'll remind our Romeo of his responsibilities as a member of Cerberus. You make arrangements for getting one of those Vis sent over here."

The shouting grew louder as he approached the enlisted barracks. "No. Either you pay me or I leave right now."

"No, please! I can pay you half now, see?" A credit chit clattered on a hard surface. "I've been on this station three goddamn months. Between Petrovsky and the Talons, you're the first chance I've had to have any fun. If he wasn't such a slave driver—"

Never let it be said that he didn't know how to make an entrance. He opened the door. A private of no more than nineteen stood with his trousers around his ankles. His face was as red as Prescott's and it brought his freckles into sharp relief. His eyes went wide when he saw Petrovsky. "Sir." He saluted hastily.

"At ease. No need to make yourself look more ridiculous than you already have. Get dressed and report to Captain Prescott."

The private did up his trousers and scrambled out of the room, leaving Oleg along with the prostitute. He realized with a start that she was the same woman he had seen earlier. Up close, he could see the sharp lines of her jaw and the darkness of her eyes. She was pretty in a vague, generic way. Exactly the sort of woman a sexually-frustrated private would gravitate toward. "You shouldn't be here. You could have been shot on sight."

"He asked me to come," she said, bitterness creeping into her voice the way ivy crept up a wall. "Promised me more money than he had."

"I heard." This was the most difficult part of his job. Such behavior couldn't be encouraged, lest he find himself commanding an undisciplined mob that thought with the wrong head or some Talon used the same trick to infiltrate the outpost. "As it is, I'm going to fine you one point on your ration card. Submit your papers to the clerk on the way out."

"For doing what one of your soldiers asked me to?"

"The rules are quite clearly posted throughout the district. They are for your protection."

"My protection?" She trembled now, not even bothering to disguise the bitterness. "It's because of your protection that I'm doing this. Had a job as a dancer at Afterlife. I got by, and I never went with customers unless I wanted to. But you closed that up and now I've got to do this. So fuck your protection!"

"We all have to make sacrifices." Oleg reached for her to put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

She jerked away. "I don't see you making any. I do what I have to do to survive."

I do what I have to do to survive. Nothing ever really changed here, did it? All that ever changed was the names. His hands dropped to his sides. "Get out of here."

"Are you all right, sir?" Matthews asked when he returned to the car. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"In a manner of speaking. Tell Logistics we're increasing rations for the Gozu District by one point for the next week. A recognition of all their sacrifices."

Matthews smiled brightly. "Very generous of you, sir."

"No, not generous," Oleg said with a sad smile. "I was merely remembering."