A/N: A story on the self, relationships both platonic and romantic, and possibility.
This is something I've been wanting to do for a while, a slow burn and a long fic. Canon-typical warnings and a note from me that I want to show more on the emotional and mental impacts on characters.
Also, angst from Liara's unrequited love, and that may not be for everyone.
Happy N7 day.
Fire in her side. In her bones. Her mind couldn't pick out distinct thoughts. There were only sensations, and few of them. Her finger twitched. Maybe. She tried to lift her hand. Tried again. She couldn't even hold her breath to try focusing. An instinctual panic prepared itself, but she became aware of a noise.
A voice.
It was consistent and gave her something to ground herself, to try making sense of.
She'd gone in and out countless times before hearing her name once or twice and recognizing some lines from Macbeth.
"This decision is a little bigger than us, don't you think, Shepard?"
The doubt in Garrus' eyes as he stares past her at the rachni queen isn't something she faults him for. But politics would tie things up forever and they couldn't exactly stay and secure the queen. Shepard rolls a shoulder an asari commando nearly dislocated as she turns. Even now, Liara notices her, looks to her instead of her mother on the ground not three feet away. There's no doubt in wet, blue eyes and Shepard wishes there was. The gun in her hand killed Matriarch Benezia, someone much more capable than her.
"They made me a Spectre for a reason." Shepard hits the panel harder than she needs to. Garrus sighs behind her but she just watches the queen go.
Wonders if failure will have her face a death like Benezia. Or worse.
She...felt. She felt warm. That wasn't right. But her mind couldn't find a reason why. Every time she began to close in on her last memory, it floated away. Her finger moved.
She's a soldier. She's a Spectre. She's seen enough things to become uncomfortably desensitized, but crawling out the Mako and seeing parts of the Citadel on fire makes her heart stutter. Seeing Sovereign swipe a beam of literal death across one of the station's arms just to cut a cruiser in half makes her sick.
Seeing something like fear in Wrex's eyes as he stares at it too makes her blood freeze.
How many lives?
Under Sovereign's control, the remains of Saren knocks the shotgun from her hands as it darts past.
Ashley screams behind her and Akuze fills her ears again.
Her biotics distract Saren from breaking through Ashley's armor.
The only light in the room came from the harsh blue of her screens. Chin on her fist, she reached for a cup without looking. Something in the report made her brow furrow, but then her whole face changed just before she spat the old coffee back into the cup. A sigh left her as she searched for the newest cup among those littering her desk.
Liara copied the file to a datapad and moved to the couch, swishing fresh coffee in her mouth to get rid of the bad taste.
People lived, and so they left a trail, left clues to their lives. She was an archaeologist, after all. Messy people made her job easy.
Had it become that? A job?
An honest laugh echoed throughout her apartment for the very first time. She tossed the datapad to the floor and raised her cup in a mock toast. Her smile was directed at the broken N7 helmet on a stand near her desk. "You'd announce yourself to an enemy you couldn't yet reach, too, wouldn't you? With more resources and security than you? Of course you would."
A much more bitter laugh made a dent in the silence as Liara halfway glared into her cup. "But would you love me now, Sam?"
The Normandy's on fire. And Joker's too damn stubborn to let her go.
Meanwhile Shepard's too stubborn to let him go.
Comms are a mess. Liara's herding everyone to the escape pods with Wrex's help.
Tali's arguing that she isn't getting in a pod without her to the point Garrus has to throw her over his shoulder. Shepard can't help smiling even as she looks at the massive hole torn through her ship.
She feels small.
Getting Joker out the cockpit is a shouting match and she ultimately fractures part of his leg but, dammit, he's part of her crew.
The Normandy and its pods go in and out of her vision, getting farther and farther away as she flips through vast emptiness.
There's no enemy to fight. No strategy to have. Her suit's compromised.
The cold is starting to burn.
She realizes the terror and frenzy of sound isn't just in her comms. It's her, too. She's screaming helplessly for her life. What parts of her vision aren't going black are blurred by tears and the fear's giving way to pain. Her lungs constrict.
She can't stop whatever hell is coming from her mouth, but she's Commander Shepard and her crew is her family. She breaks the comm link.
The Normandy's gone and so is she.
A failure.
She was screaming. She only realized when she heard other people shouting. Everything was white and she felt like someone had gutted her. Rearranged her insides and set them on fire. Swinging at whatever or whoever touched her arm created a tearing feeling at her shoulder when she made impact.
A rush of footsteps stopped at her right side and she managed to make a loose fist as she tried to focus on the blur above her, blocking out some of the bright light. They were saying her name.
"Stop, Shepard! I've got you. You're okay, Shepard, I'm here."
She knew that voice. She reached for them like they could keep the cold from her bones and tried to say something. Choked. They pried her fist off their coat and held her hand, shifting away. The light burned her eyes again before she felt a prick at the same arm.
They squeezed her hand.
"I've got you."
Pain meant she was alive.
Ringing filled Shepard's ears amid the rush of sound and her heart was beating too fast and the light above was enough to make her shield her eyes before she even opened them.
Everything was so white, so sterile.
Cold like her bones.
She rolled off the bed and dropped into a crouch, uncovering her eyes and squinting to take in the room as sounds started to finally make sense.
Explosions, gunfire, alarms, and shouting.
Not a good combination.
Her muscles burned.
"Shepard!"
For some reason, she looked up at one of the speaker units on the ceiling.
"You have to get moving. There's a gun in the locker, but little ammo."
She spun before standing and walking to the locker. It was unlocked and held a heavy pistol, but she didn't recognize the tech for it. The heat sensor wasn't the same.
You died.
Her back straightened with the thought and she swallowed the question of how long it'd been. How she was here. Even as that familiar voice urged her to hurry, she acknowledged it didn't matter.
"I'm Shepard," she said as she took up a position by the door. Her voice was rough.
There was a notable pause.
She entered the room. No hostiles. Still, she used a desk as cover and waited for whatever was causing the explosions in a nearby hall to come.
"I'm Operative Lawson. The security mechs have been hacked. I'll have to meet you at the shuttles on the other side of the facility and I'll try to find the lightest way there for you."
Eyes on the door, Shepard flexed her fingers.
"You're not supposed to be up yet, but your biotics should be fully functional. However, do try to limit use of them. Too much stress on your body is not a good idea. I have three signatures on your position."
And through the door they came.
Her biotics came faster, easier. The dark energy ripped them in half and left an ugly gash in the wall.
She was sweating.
Still, she crossed the room and scavenged for ammo. She walked and talked like the void of space hadn't consumed her. "What the fuck, Operative Lawson?"
Or maybe she did, considering her plain tone.
"We could just say you were upgraded. I'll answer all your questions on the shuttle."
"All of them?"
Shepard made it down two halls without encountering another mech.
"Yes."
Lawson gave her directions. Sealed some doors and opened others. Explained thermal clips in surprising depth.
Her aim got better, her movements more fluid.
Sometimes, when she shot down a mech, she saw the face of someone from Akuze horribly transplanted on its head.
Sometimes, during an explosion, she heard the rumble of Sovereign.
"Are you alright, Shepard? You've been exclusive," her voice cut off, "the pistol."
No. Everything was far too taxing to consider using biotics again. Her damn arm felt like it was going to come off. She used a wall for cover to catch her breath. "What's going on, Lawson?"
The first part was garbled at best. "—shuttle—closing in on my position."
And then Shepard was alone.
She tried to avoid comparing it to being lost in space.
She carried on, and a seed of self-doubt planted itself in the back of her mind when she felt indifferent about coming upon what was clearly a soldier of an outfit she despised. Not to say that she liked having her back to him.
It was more so that some part of her hoped Jacob shot her in the back.
Little did she know she'd actually watch someone get shot in the face within the hour.
Her gaze tracked Wilson's body as it dropped. She hadn't even raised her gun. She did, however, look up, and blue eyes held hers. They were cold and distant, but there was a type of fury there she could respect. A type of fury she recognized.
"Well?" Jacob knelt beside Wilson and closed his eyes.
Shepard hadn't even realized he'd said anything.
Lawson's head turned from Shepard sharply, as if he had insulted her. "Wilson reprogrammed the mechs and almost destroyed nearly two years of my work. Never mind trying to kill me. Meanwhile I'm certain you've already gone and told the Commander who we are."
"She deserves the truth, Miranda." He stood up, crossing his arms.
Shepard walked past them both and toward the shuttle. "As if I missed the Cerberus logos plastered everywhere, including my chest." It felt like it burned through the clothes and into her skin. But it reminded her of something. She spun on her heel and came to a stop so abruptly that Jacob looked around for a threat. "I was told my crew made it out, and I want confirmation on that, but that leaves me one pressing question before we get off this damn station."
Now Miranda folded her arms over her chest. Her hip canted out and she raised her chin just a little. In this moment she felt alive, real, a person with emotions, and Shepard got a flash of a memory of Miranda holding her hand when she could hardly control her body. Her confidence and her will leaked out, a barrier against the harshness of Shepard's voice, a barrier of her own will.
Shepard's cheek itched. She took half a step toward Miranda as she jabbed a finger at the top of her head. "What the hell is this?"
Blue eyes drifted up before settling on Shepard's face again, some of the ice replaced by thoughtful distance. "A mystery. I spent a few days trying to determine what caused the shift in your genetics to make your hair black instead of red, but it ultimately proved to have no adverse effects, so I had to prioritize my time with other things. I can't imagine the shock it gave you because seeing you with black hair after months of it being red made me drop my coffee."
There was something in the pinching of Miranda's eyebrows that spoke of frustration, of interest. Of honesty. It was enough for Shepard. Kind of.
"Yeah, you should've seen Miranda, Shepard. She banned everyone from your room for a month."
Miranda shifted then. Her indifference returned to her face and the air around her seemed colder.
Holding in a sigh, she rubbed her right shoulder and looked between them. "I hope I don't regret this, but what color are my eyes?"
"Green."
"Jade," Miranda said, and Shepard saw the slightest twitch of her eye like she'd revealed too much.
It was safe to say she didn't fully understand Commander Shepard. Hostility was to be expected. It was understandable, even.
But Shepard had simply been straight-backed and polite. No conversation beyond what was needed and any eye contact there had been seemed almost lazy if it wasn't for the distance in her tone. The only edge to her had been when Miranda pressed to check her memories and Shepard whispered a single, "Enough."
Well, there had been that and her meeting with The Illusive Man. Shepard's demeanor the entire time created a sense of surprise in her worth sharing a look with Jacob once they heard yelling. Honest fury.
Miranda noted it in a new file, along with the fact the red glow she'd seen on Shepard's face in the shuttle wasn't a trick of the light. It was in fact a gentle, red line across the left side of her jaw that Miranda speculated could be a result of complications from the cybernetics.
It wasn't a minute after that Miranda considered this mission could be a failure for the first time.
Choosing the Normandy's original pilot seemed like a sound idea, as he flew like no other and provided an anchor for Shepard.
A mistake.
The red on Shepard's face became insistent at the sight of him and he must've noticed it and Shepard's tight expression because his joke to break the ice fell flat. When her stride lengthened and her hands came to her sides instead of being behind her back, he came to a full stop. He brought his hand up in a salute and his mouth was a grim line like he expected her to break his legs instead of say hello.
She got so close her forehead touched his hat as she stared down at him. "I wouldn't have anyone else fly."
Then she spun around and asked if Miranda and Jacob were ready to go.
Miranda couldn't tell if Shepard despised Joker or not. She couldn't tell how Shepard felt about her. About being alive. About the mission.
There were too many variables for her to be comfortable.
She busied herself during the entire flight to keep a single thought at bay. Even as she checked her guns alongside Jacob and Shepard, she silenced herself. They touched down on Freedom's Progress and Miranda had fully locked away the idea that it bothered her to not know everything about Commander Shepard even though she'd dedicated the last two years of her life to her.
The mission was a blur of shooting drones and mechs, which wasn't a good sign. She was too focused on Shepard. Alive and breathing and impressive. And the woman was still adjusting so one could only imagine once she was used to her biotics and cybernetics.
It was her handiwork, but Shepard took it further. Made art with a shot or her biotics or even her boot. Where Miranda would've ducked down, Shepard stood, indomitable and unrelenting even as her shield flickered out.
Miranda wished she could see her face.
And one should always be careful what they wish for.
Shepard whipped off her helmet for Tali'Zorah. Came alive for Tali'Zorah.
The quarian whispered Shepard's name like a prayer before stepping close enough to do a scan of her body.
"It can't be. You can't be."
Miranda was pulled from shutting down her own bitterness and certain thoughts she didn't like by Shepard turning to meet her eyes.
"Operative Lawson skipped a lot of sleep to piece me back together. And I do mean literal pieces."
She felt her lips part, but she didn't know what she wanted to say, or even the exact name for the feeling she had. She did, however, regain her composure and nod under Tali'Zorah's scrutiny. "I was in charge of rebuilding Shepard as close to...before, as possible."
"Shepard or a Cerberus robot?"
The retort died in Miranda's throat when she saw Shepard's eye twitch and just like that, her face slid back to the mask of indifference Miranda knew too well at this point.
Tali'Zorah cursed under her breath.
And Shepard was very well robotic for the rest of the mission.
After the debriefing, Miranda dragged her fingers over her eyes, but she still saw the mountain of reports on her eyelids. Somehow, she'd never fully thought about the logistics of the mission after Shepard woke up. Successfully rebuilding Shepard seemed like the biggest hurdle on this quest for the impossible. But this particular hurdle was one without a proper name, as Shepard didn't accept Cerberus as a means to an end, but she also didn't spit in their faces. You'd think it was a merge between corporations and an employee just working politely in their own bubble if it wasn't for the stakes.
Or Shepard's...distaste for The Illusive Man. It didn't make sense. She went to bat at anything he said, if the displeased message and precise instructions on watching Shepard she'd received from him was anything to go by. And yet the Commander didn't bark at them, so to speak.
However, there was a growing ruckus that drew her attention to the wall as if she could glare at the people on the other side. A small sigh left her as she reached for her cup, but she set it back down with a deeper one.
No coffee left.
Her door pinged, and she stared at it until the sound repeated itself.
The motion to press the button was almost mechanical.
Miranda Lawson's door slid open and Commander Shepard took exactly two steps in. She stood there like a soldier, gaze on Miranda while Kelly finally entered. They shared a look, Miranda's annoyed and Kelly's anxious, and those green eyes never traveled back in Miranda's direction. She folded her hands on her desk. "Is there a problem?"
"No! No," the laugh Kelly offered strayed far from the easy, cheerful demeanor she usually presented, "I was just telling the Commander that I would give her the tour of the ship since it was redesigned."
Blue eyes slid over to find Shepard looking at her as if she was waiting. Her face was relaxed, if indifferent. So Miranda looked back at Kelly. "Chambers?"
The yeoman was edging away from the both of them, out the room if Miranda had to guess. "I also suggested to the Commander to follow the usual protocol that no one comes to your office unless it's an emergency."
"So what's the emergency, then, and why is it taking so long for me to be informed about it?"
"There is no emergency," Shepard finally said.
And Miranda was still getting used to hearing her. Vids, especially after the Alliance got to making Shepard in their vision after her death, didn't do justice to her in person. Her voice was strong, quiet, a little husky, and made Miranda think of a current coming before you realized it and then being dragged under.
Shepard tilted her head toward Kelly, a lock of dark hair sliding forward and across her forehead as she did. "While I appreciate Yeoman Chambers' informative and helpful nature, I feel it'd be more fitting for my XO to show me around."
Miranda glanced between them. "This isn't the Alliance, Commander."
"Am I in charge of this mission?"
"The execution of it, yes."
"And your word carries weight directly after mine, right?"
For a moment, irritation started to burn in her throat, and she almost asked if the Commander enjoyed wasting time with questions she knew the answers to. But she backtracked, composed herself. There was something that entered jade eyes and it looked...mischievous. She would play along, if for no better reason than analyzing the puzzle in front of her. "That is correct."
"Then, Miss Lawson?"
Again, that feeling that Shepard was waiting. But she didn't know what for.
Even though Miranda noticed the twitch of Shepard's lips, she kept a straight face. Whatever Shepard was getting at couldn't be bad. It wouldn't make sense for her track record. She caught Kelly staring at her. "Then I am the XO of this ship, and as such, I will show you around your ship."
A smirk that didn't make sense. "Excellent. I'll wait outside until you've wrapped up whatever you're doing."
With that, Shepard turned on her heel and exited.
Miranda resumed typing as if Kelly wasn't there. "You heard the Commander."
Once more, the door to Miranda's office slid open and closed.
Her fingers froze before she settled her hands in her lap and leaned back, eyes on nothing. Mind, working.
Shepard hated Cerberus.
Miranda was Cerberus.
Shepard set her up with a power move.
Before she could begin to figure out the why of it, she would have to see if the gesture held weight, and what Shepard meant by it. So, she got up.
Shepard was just a few steps away from her office, hands still locked behind her back, and she turned at the sound of Miranda's door. "Ready, Miss Lawson?"
"I suppose a top to bottom approach would be most effective."
She received a nod, and noticed Shepard doing a slow turn as she walked over to fall into step with her. Pushing the button to go to Shepard's cabin was automatic, and didn't occur to her as possibly strange until afterward since Shepard slept there the whole way from the station to Freedom's Progress. She nearly filled the silence with facts about upgrades to the ship's design, but it wouldn't have been cohesive. However, talking about each floor as they went presented the possibility of glossing over something.
"It's faster."
Miranda glanced at her in her peripherals. "What?"
Shepard's boot tapped the metal below them and she didn't look over either, but she did chuckle. "The SR-1 might've been a technological wonder, but her elevator was like a drugged up snail."
Blue eyes went to the light indicating they were about to reach their destination and back down. Was she supposed to laugh? "Really."
"You would've hated it."
Instead of leaving the elevator and entering Shepard's quarters with facts spilling from her mouth, there was a line on her brow and she found herself stopping next to Shepard's little office and staring at the Commander's relaxed expression. "And how would you know that?"
The only response to the sharpness of her voice was a raised eyebrow. "Besides the fact everyone did? You're efficient and precise."
How easily Shepard made her feel like an overreacting fool. Of course, she didn't show it. Couldn't show it. She simply offered a single nod. "A fair point." Miranda passed her to stare into the empty fishtank. "It was noted that you enjoyed keeping fish, so we built a larger one into your wall."
"Larger? Into?" Shepard leaned into Miranda's vision with both eyebrows trying to reach her hairline. "It is the wall. Why waste money on this?"
The smallest frown marred Miranda's expression. "Assuring your ease and comfort in the name of success is a small price. Especially considering the price of you."
Shepard straightened. Waited, Miranda identified once more.
"Commander, the Lazarus Project wasn't even finished when you woke up two days ago and Cerberus already spent more than four billion credits on you. Some of the technology didn't even exist before you."
Green eyes drifted away. Around the room. Came back to Miranda. "So, actual billions and two years of your life."
Miranda crossed her arms with a roll of her eyes, hip canting out. "Thankfully. Wilson was originally slated to be in charge and took one look at you before he said it couldn't be done. In fact, all he did was say the project would be a failure."
"And you didn't."
"Of course not. Failure isn't one of my interests."
"Naturally." It sounded like a thought that had escaped Shepard instead of part of the conversation.
"I certainly wouldn't say I failed." Her gaze traveled over Shepard and she felt her nose crinkle. "I simply wish I'd had more time."
Shepard leaned against the glass of the fish tank, eyes on the cycling water that was waiting for fish to make it home. "Perfectionist?"
Miranda's lips pressed into a line for a moment. "That's not the term I would use."
"So this must bother the shit out of you," Shepard muttered, knuckle rubbing against her jawline. She pushed off the glass to go back to the elevator. "And so the tour continues."
And so it did.
Miranda's heels clicked along the floor as Shepard walked alongside her. "You're familiar with the CIC, of course. However the design of this level changed to feature the armory, a research lab, and the usual things."
"Let's see them."
Her stride stalled. She looked away from the elevator. Instead of discovering Shepard waiting on her, she saw the Commander engaged in a conversation with a crewman who had happened to be walking by. So Miranda waited.
Which, in of itself, was strange. She didn't wait on anyone except for The Illusive Man.
She had so many reports to write and file and look through.
"XO Lawson."
Her eyebrow quirked before she even looked over. A little voice in her head told her to correct the Commander on her title, but she was busy deciding whether Shepard was being an annoying marine or a person with purpose. Still, when Shepard jerked her head, Miranda walked over to form a loose triangle with them. Familiarity with social etiquette told her she was standing too far away from them for a conversation but she didn't bother to correct it.
The crewman took half a step away, alternating between looking at Shepard, Miranda, and the elevator past them.
"James here just asked me something I think you'd have an answer to. Since, you know, I wasn't awake."
He winced under Miranda's gaze. "I never found anything on how extensive cybernetics could keep from interfering with a biotic amp. That's all."
"Project Lazarus cost far too much to simply divulge its secrets."
"Right, of course." James offered a weak goodbye to no one in particular before going around them to get to the elevator.
Just as Miranda refocused on Shepard and placed the pull on her mouth as disappointment, Shepard was walking again.
"This way to the lab, right?"
The visit to the lab held a few questions on Shepard's part, and she only nodded about them needing Dr. Solus aboard to finalize the inventory.
Stopping by the armory, however, had Miranda ready to pick up one of the rifles and hit herself in the face with it. Repeatedly. Listening to Jacob and Shepard swap a few Alliance stories wasn't on a list of her preferred activities. Hell, it never occurred to her as an activity.
Miranda was already in motion once Jacob saluted Shepard. The door to the CIC barely opened in time for her and she'd hit the button for the elevator before Shepard caught up, but the past fifteen minutes had been a touch interesting.
She'd expected Shepard, a marine to the bone, the Alliance's poster girl, to openly detest Jacob for choosing to leave. In favor of Cerberus, no less.
But no, Shepard listened intently to Jacob's reasoning and threw yet another wrench into the conclusions Miranda had drawn with a single nod.
Two years of Commander Shepard being her life.
And she couldn't even accurately predict the damn woman.
Upon exiting the elevator, Miranda simply pointed at the medbay and waited outside for Shepard to inevitably catch up with Dr. Chakwas.
What was the use of reports or informants or two years if they didn't give genuine insight into Commander Shepard? What misinformation had she received and how long until she realized it?
A simple fact she never managed to discover popped into her head like a taunt. It was the nail in the coffin.
Miranda knew her physically like no one could ever hope to, but her herself?
Shepard was a different person than she had been painted.
Intimidating. Relentless. Good. Driven. Strong. Capable. Honorable.
These things were true, but, going off the reports and seeing her in person, they were selective.
"What is it?"
"You're a bloody icon," Miranda repeated from a different conversation. She kept on autopilot, walking to one of the doors for the engineering area, and even stepping through before she stopped.
Donnelly and Daniels were staring at her, hands frozen above their keyboards.
Instead of acknowledging them, Miranda turned back around to see what happened to her companion who was no longer beside her.
It took a moment, but Shepard joined her with an impassive expression.
"Why did you stop?"
Only after Shepard cocked her head did Miranda notice she was clenching her jaw.
"You stopped. After asking."
"You answered." Shepard breezed past her to introduce herself to the usually loud engineers.
And Miranda replayed their conversation while standing nearby in case Shepard called on her again. Though, she hadn't on the last deck.
It wasn't long before Miranda pulled herself into the real world to go with Shepard again, but she paused. Watched Shepard walk toward the eezo core before deciding to follow. Her biotics thrummed just under her skin, or maybe that was just the core itself being so loud and so close. Either way, she felt it down to her bones. As Shepard's silence persisted, Miranda's gaze moved to her.
The light created a blue tint to everything, and Miranda found herself noting Shepard would look good with dark blue hair. She also noted the ease in Shepard's stance was false. Her shoulders were too high up to be relaxed, and as wave after wave of blue cascaded over them, the tension in her jaw became apparent again.
"Why didn't you ask Tali'Zorah to join you?"
Does it not matter as long as you find someone to fill the technical role? Why was taking off your helmet so important? What data did you give her and why isn't there a report? Are you friends or merely fond colleagues? What was that tension?
To keep from voicing her thoughts, to keep from showing too much interest, Miranda lifted her chin a little. It doubled as prompting Shepard to answer her question.
It worked. Shepard shrugged, and her shoulders nearly sagged afterward. Her voice, however, was firm. "She's busy."
"Too busy to help you undoubtedly stop the reapers? How would you know without asking?"
"Tali has a lot to do in this life." Shepard leaned forward, bracing her hands on the rail, and jerked her chin forward. "It's easily double the size as the last one."
"Two point five times, to be precise."
"So who first?"
"Commander?"
Green eyes looked back and an eyebrow lifted as a lock of hair fell into her face. "The dossiers."
Miranda felt a line between her eyebrows deepen. "Have you not decided?"
Shepard stared at her for so long she almost looked behind herself to see if someone else was there. But she managed to just wait on Shepard while Shepard possibly waited on her.
"I'm asking for your opinion."
"You've clearly expressed you're uninterested in the opinion of Cerberus on anything."
"I'm not asking Cerberus."
Stupid marine. Miranda never should've considered she would be anything else. "Shepard, I am Cerberus."
"No." Shepard pushed off the rail to properly face her. The tightness of her jaw almost seemed like it was highlighting the red glow across her face, stretching the skin there to tear it open. "You're a person, aren't you, Miss Lawson?"
Her arms crossed and she thought she heard the crackle of biotics, but Shepard's were inactive so it must've been the eezo core playing tricks on her. She built this woman, brought her back from the dead when there was barely enough of her to bury. The least Shepard could do was respect her. "You're a person but you're so fast to beat your chest and bark that you're Alliance, Commander. Don't be a hypocrite."
With the soft glow of the core behind her, the red streak on Shepard's jaw seemed brighter than ever. Her spine could've snapped for how tall she stood and a guess that the hands behind her back were in fists was probably a good one. Commander Shepard was unmoving, not even breathing. Meanwhile, Miranda tapped her fingers against her own arm as if she was bored to mask a feeling settling into the back of her neck that was something like discomfort.
Unease.
"Everyone on this ship has mentioned the Alliance more than me. I've mentioned two people in it I want to contact." Shepard exhaled slowly and Miranda expected her to do the stupid show of dominance common to marines as she started moving. But Shepard never made to walk over her. She just went by her like they'd had a regular conversation. "The word you're looking for is bitter."
"I'm not—" Miranda halted, halfway turned around to drag the argument, and she stared down at herself.
Miranda Lawson's hands were engulfed in biotics that crawled up her forearms.