A/N: Please give me your thoughts! (a.k.a. please REVIEW!) Without further ado, I present...well, this thing. By the way, updates will totally be slow in coming. I have crap to do. D:

I wrote this because I find a sore lacking of fanfics that properly do Miranda Lawson justice. This is my tribute to the perfect woman.

1: Spin Cycle

The dark sky, blanketed with ominous rainclouds, overshadowed a largely empty Los Angeles street. Cars chugged by slowly in the rain, the city silence punctuated only by the occasional car horn or the hum of windshield wipers. The streets were glistening with rain. In the distance, lighting flashed. Thunder rumbled across the sky.

The mood of Mother Nature closely mirrored that of the scene unfolding in a dark alley not one thousand yards from Sepulveda Boulevard. In the darkened, secluded space, four men were standing rather menacingly against the relatively pathetic sight of one girl, her hair slick with rain and her clothes grimy from days without washing.

"Look, kid…" The man sighed exasperatedly. "Your daddy wants you home. He says he's sorry for whatever it is he did, and he'd really like you back. So do I, preferably without a fight. I don't feel like wasting clips or men, and I'd really like to get paid."

"And I've told you before, sir, I'm not going with you," Miranda told him. She had done this so many times that the tremor had long left her voice. "And I don't care about your clips, your men, or your paycheck. You might as well go home."

The man smirked and sighed again in mock resignation. "You really want to do this the hard way, girlie? I can't guarantee the integrity of your pretty speckled mug."

"Take your best shot," she challenged him, blue eyes flashing.

"You've got to be kidding me," he grumbled. "I'm going to fucking enjoy this."

Miranda stood stock-still and watched as the man swaggered towards her, dropping his weapon and cracking his knuckles. She waited for him to take a swing and then—

A terrified scream as the mercenary was suddenly lifted in the air, pulsating with blue, and flung across the alley. He hit the opposite wall and slid to the ground, unmoving.

Before his henchmen could register what had happened, a shadow appeared behind them. Two of the men turned to look just as their comrade seemed to turn his head to look at something, but then it seemed like he was turning his head too far than the body should allow—it was over as quickly as it started. His neck snapped like a twig and he crumpled to the ground. The remaining two started shouting, looking wildly around. Their orders had been to take the girl alive. Confused, they fired into the dark—or tried to. Miranda's biotics flared again and one of them shrieked in pain as her Warp ripped him apart at the molecular level, keeling over and twitching grotesquely before going still.

Pupils dilated in terror, the last man stood among his dead comrades, his weapon hanging slack at his side.

Time seemed to stand still as Miranda and the merc stood, staring each other down. She pretended to strike out at him with a menacing growl. With a terrified yelp, he ran in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could carry him. The girl watched him run, debating the possibility of letting him live, but she decided against it. Casually, almost lazily, she raised the pistol one more time and put a round in the man's back. The gunshot echoed against the cold brick walls of antiquated buildings. Then the sound shivered into silence, and they were alone.

Miranda Lawson sighed. The malnutrition, the lack of sleep, and the overall stress of being on the lam had left her exhausted, even after a relatively mild use of her biotics. She closed her eyes momentarily. As appealing as freedom sounded to her, being on the run was very trying. She had always imagined that it'd be fun…like in the movies. Hell, that was part of the reason why she'd left. But only a small part of it. She wanted the means to live her own life, on her own terms, and she was willing to go great lengths to get it, but still…

She was getting tired of running. Even from arrogant, overconfident knuckleheads.

The constant feeling of being watched, and having to measure every step she took, not being able to make calls or send messages without fear of her communications being traced—not like she had anyone to call or message—was not quite as daunting as the knowledge that she was running from everything she had ever known. But what she had known and what she knew now were markedly different. Under the watchful eye of Richard Lawson, she'd known expendability and the crushing fear of failure. She'd had the same constricting boundaries, but they had made a protective circle around a comfortable lap of luxury. Now, without the material goods to hide the bitter taste of reality, she felt free.

After so many years of playing the predator, Miranda finally knew what it felt like to be prey, and it was not a pleasant feeling. But coping, that had been another part of her life before freedom. Her father had hammered three words into her head, a mantra that would supposedly follow her in everything she did. Adapt, improvise, overcome. Somehow, even without her father's watchful eye, she managed to follow that mantra to a T.

The only living male left in the alley stepped out of the shadows, his face partially veiled by the darkness.

"Miri," he said quietly. She started, drawn from her trance at the sound of his voice. She nodded, but her gesture said nothing.

"They're getting too close," she said quietly. "We have to get out of here. Far away."

"I know."

"You were right."

He smiled grimly. "How did those words taste coming out of your mouth?" he quipped.

"Like vinegar," she said sourly, arching an eyebrow. "But really…where can we go?"

"Our only shot now is off-world," he said thoughtfully. "We can get aboard an off-world shuttle…fake IDs, or…"

"Let's just stow away," Miranda insisted. "I don't want my father picking up a money trail. Not until we're far, far away."

"Okay."

"Niket?"

He looked into her face. "Yeah?"

She met his eyes. "Thanks for being here."

a couple of hours later

Miranda was the only living thing in a room littered with the bodies of six men, sitting in the corner. She was sitting cross-legged, staring at the crumpled bodies with a strange serenity in her gaze, but in reality there was something else warring beneath her skin. Her fingers twitched ever so slightly. Her head dropped down to her chest.

"Miri! Good news, I've got—Miri!"

The voice brought Miranda back to reality and she looked up, blue eyes wide. She opened her mouth to call back to him but no words came out. He shouted her name again.

"Miri!" Niket hurtled into the room, clutching the doorframe, dark eyes looking around wildly. He visibly relaxed when he saw her and breathed a sigh of relief.

"God dammit, Miri…" he groaned. "You scared the shit out of me."

She could only nod. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she angrily bit them back. Niket crossed the room and knelt down next to her.

"What happened?" he murmured.

She shook her head and finally found her voice. "They found us again, Niket," she said flatly. "I don't know how much longer we can keep them away."

"Two attacks in a day? This isn't good."

"I know."

She sighed. "We need to get out of here. They'll be back."

"Yeah, I know, but first things first." Niket pulled her to her feet. "You're covered in blood. Let's get you cleaned up."

"Okay."

Niket waited outside the bathroom, listening to the sound of the shower running. He could hear stifled sobs over the sound of running water and looked away; he could never really handle crying women—even the sound of it. Miranda was…well, considerate (for lack of a better word) in the sense that she let it all out in the shower, where he didn't have to deal with it. She knew his discomfort. Sometimes it felt like she knew everything.

If it weren't for the fact that he sometimes waited outside the door for her to finish her shower, he wouldn't even know that she cried at all.

He pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders and shivered. It was cold in the apartment, the hot water was sporadic at best, and the lighting gave the blood on the walls an even more eerie look. Sure, it was often worse at home, but still. It was unsettling, and he was eager to leave. The bodies were too much trouble to move.

Niket cast a glance at the closed bathroom door. Miranda was almost done with her shower. He checked his omni-tool, not like he needed to—the girl was like clockwork. Her showers were always exactly fifteen minutes on the dot. He had to admire her consistency. There hadn't really been much of that in his life, ever. Not now, and not anytime soon, either. Sighing, he turned away and surveyed the room, looking for their things. They were leaving tonight—they could not risk detection by her father's men, or, heaven forbid, law enforcement. (That would be considerably worse.) Slowly, he packed their belongings in the two backpacks they used to put stuff in. He took inventory of everything, more out of boredom than anything. When he was done, he had tallied the following:

One dark blue jacket, Miranda's

Three sets of undergarments, Miranda's

One pair of pants, Miranda's

Two shirts, his

Two heavy pistols and thirty thermal clips

Two vacuum-sealed packages of frozen varren skewers

And…what was this…a baby blanket? Niket frowned, lifting the soft pink cloth in his hands. He turned it over. Big, tough Miranda had a baby blanket? He thought of giving her crap about it, but decided against it and slipped it into the backpack. They needed to make some headway.

(~*3*)~

The water switched from hot to cold like a bipolar light switch, but it would have to make do. Sobs wracked Miranda's body, her tears mixing with the water cascading down her shoulders. She stood there for a long time, absently going through the motions of cleaning herself up, watching the water turn from clear to dark brown mixed with red. She hadn't washed for a considerable length of time.

Weakness, that was something Miranda never showed to anybody.

She was fairly sure that Niket was standing outside the door and could hear her cry—he did that a lot, puppy-guarding her like a vulnerable new charge—but it didn't matter, really. She felt so wound up inside from all the stress, the stress of running away and fighting her father's mercs and the moral weight of what she'd done bearing down on her chest with every passing second. She knew in her heart that what she did was right, that she would die if she hadn't run, but there was a part of her that still felt guilty for running away from Richard Lawson after everything he'd invested in her.

But that was it, wasn't it? She was not a daughter. But a dynasty. An investment. Her value to her father, if she could call him that, was about the same of that of a share of stocks. If it lost its value, it would be done away with…usually by the exchange of credits. But she had come to grips with her expendability a long time ago. She knew that if she returned to stay, she would be eliminated—she was a flight risk. Killing her father's men—taking lives—was not what disturbed her the most.

What bothered her was not that the mercenaries had gotten close to taking her and that she had no choice. No, they had been more or less incompetent thugs merely looking for a couple of credits to spend on women and booze and new guns. It confused her at first—she knew from her experience that if her father wanted to hire the big guns, like Eclipse or Blood Pack, he would do it. But she understood what he was doing—testing her, feeling out her capabilities. It was as if even in her dash for freedom, she was still being tested. It was as if her escape was simply part of his grand scheme, as if she would be reclaimed and pushed forward once more with a better knowledge of what her genetic makeup had done for her. Well, she would have none of it. She would show that son of a bitch that she didn't belong to him. Not now, not then, and not ever again.

She was Miranda Lawson, beholden to nothing and nobody. She was a person. She was human. And she would prove it.

"Niket," Miranda stopped abruptly in the alley. "Wait."

He turned, frowning. "What? Do you hear something?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "No…I have to do something first. It's not far. Will you come with me?"

He nodded uncertainly and followed her back the way they'd come. She made a large detour, however, heading for a completely different part of the city. Niket decided not to ask questions when they came to an apartment building.

"Wait here," she mouthed. Quickly, she opened the door and slipped inside.

Puzzled, Niket debated following her. What was she doing? It obviously wasn't for him to see. Well, that was all well and good, but they were on the lam. They couldn't just split up like that. She couldn't just leave him vulnerable out here, where anyone could see—what was she thinking? Why would she keep anything from him? (Well, he knew the answer to that.)

Rolling his eyes, Niket pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. He didn't smoke out of necessity; rather, it was just a way to pass the time and calm his nerves. Miranda had told him many times to kick it, but old habits died hard.

He should have heard the skycar coming to the stop, or the footsteps, or even the crack of a bludgeon coming down on his head. To his credit, he was unconscious before the sounds could register.

(~*3*)~

Miranda quietly ascended the steps and gently rapped on the door, pressing her face close. "Lanteia?" she whispered. "It's me. Miranda."

A blue eye appeared in the crack in the door, which widened to reveal a young asari standing in the doorway. There was a pistol in her hand, which she hooked back in her belt when she recognized her visitor.

"Miss Lawson," she greeted softly. "Are you moving again?"

"Please, it's Miranda." She smiled weakly at the asari. "And yes, Niket and I are headed off-world. Can you hold your ground down here?"

Lanteia nodded. "I can rejoin you once you leave the planet," she said. "I'd suggest taking her to Illium. She would have a better time growing up somewhere prosperous, and I would have thought of Bekenstein, but it's too easy to find someone there."

Miranda nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate this, I really do. I wish there was some other way that I could repay you."

The asari simply smiled. "Giving me this is enough," she said. "A chance to put things right. Would you like to see her?"

She paused, hesitated. She couldn't stay long; Niket was waiting and God only knew how many of her father's men were still looking for them. The sooner they managed to get off-world, the better. But she was leaving…and this might be the last time she saw her sister…

"Yes," she found herself saying. "I'd like that."

Lanteia led her inside and shut the door, sliding the dead bolt across before going to join her in the baby's room. The asari picked her up and gently placed her in Miranda's arms. Despite the dark circles under the human's eyes and the cut on her cheek, her entire face lit up when she saw the girl. She smiled a real smile and leaned in towards the girl's face, cooing gently. The baby squealed and reached out with a tiny hand to touch her cheek. A tear escaped from Miranda's eye as she cradled her. The asari felt a pang when she thought of the fact that she was leaving her only family, possibly forever.

Miranda looked down at the peaceful face of her little sister, feeling an odd serenity that she only had when she was around her. But then she realized that she was still nameless, just another specimen from her father's lab. Unnamed. Unloved. Just like she had been. But this girl would not be another Miranda Lawson, she decided. She would have it better. She would have a normal life.

"I want to give her a name," she said quietly.

Lanteia shrugged. "What do you want to name her?"

"I don't really know," Miranda replied, frowning a little. "I was thinking...Solheim, maybe? No, no...that sounds weird."

Lanteia thought for a moment. "How about 'Oriana'?" she suggested. "It's a human name. It means sunrise."

"Oriana," Miranda tried the name on her tongue. "I like that. She's a little ray of sunshine, after all." She handed the baby back to Lanteia. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Lanteia placed Oriana back in her crib and embraced her friend. "Good luck in your endeavors."

"Au revoir," Miri agreed softly. The asari saw her out the door.

"Good night, travel safely," she whispered when she was gone. She stared after for a long time, even though there was nothing to see in the dark shadows of the stairwell. Finally, she quietly closed the door and turned back to the bedroom to hear Oriana crying. Miranda wasn't the only one feeling the loss of her sister, she thought as she cradled the human baby.

When Miranda exited the apartment building, her feeling of happiness had long faded to one of apprehension. She looked up and down the darkened alley, eyes raking the space for her friend. He was nowhere to be seen. Fear rose in her chest and she fought it down, telling herself that he was just lying low. But as she walked up and down the length of the alley, she realized that he was gone. If Niket ever went into hiding for any reason, there were always breadcrumbs. There was always something so that she could tell if he was okay. Tentatively, fearing that it was a lost cause, she whistled, shrill and sharp. She waited. No response. She tried again. There was still no response. The silence pressed down on her ears like a glove.

A hand clamped over her mouth and Miranda screamed, her panic instinct kicking in. She struggled, eyes wide with terror, twisting violently in an attempt to get free. Her hands reached up behind her and clawed at her attacked; her biotics flared but rapidly flickered and died.

"Biotic damping tech, bitch," snarled her assailant. "You're coming with me."

Panic disappeared, replaced by steely determination. There was no way she was going back. This freedom was her one chance, her only chance, to seize her life and make it hers, and if Niket was the price, so be it. With sudden, unbridled strength, Miranda clawed at the hand over her mouth and ripped it free. With the other, she reached for the pistol in her holster and came up empty handed—

She felt something jabbing into her back.

"Nice try, girlie," he sneered. "Any more funny business, and I'll put one in your spine. Clear?"

Tears welled up in Miranda's eyes. "Okay," she whimpered. "Just don't hurt me."

"Walk," he ordered. She obeyed him, shaking like a leaf.

"Please, man, I don't want to die," she sobbed pathetically. She slowly turned around to face him. "You don't want to do this. I don't wanna die. Please, I'm begging you…"

His face softened, a millisecond of weakness, but it was all she needed. Fast as a snake, Miranda lashed out and captured the gun in her hands, turning it around and squeezing the trigger. Her shot hit the man in the face. He keeled over and died. It was kind of anticlimactic, really. Miranda pocketed her gun again and turned away, feeling oddly at ease.

The fact was that no matter how many times a goon poked a gun in her face, or threatened to do things the hard way, Miranda would never let herself back down because no matter what, the truth was this. Their orders had been to take her alive. Her father would not pay for a dead body. But she aimed to kill, and she always killed. Whatever she did, she would do with success. Failure was unacceptable. If there was anything her father had taught her, it was to do things right the first time.

For example, figuring out where the hell Niket had gone—this did not bode well for either of them.

The quiet hum of a skycar coming to life turned her attention elsewhere, to the street outside. Miranda ran out to see a red car lifting off the ground. The windows were tinted, but she could make out the outline of a scrawny, fair-skinned figure in the backseat. In an instant, two and two came together and she was running, running without knowing where she was going and drawing her pistol without knowing what she was doing, but then the skycar was out of reach and all she knew was its destination. She watched it disappear over the skyline, the small bubble of euphoria in her chest rapidly shrinking to accommodate dread.

She'd sworn that she would never return to the place she once called home, but as she stared after the car that'd taken Niket, she realized that there was no other choice but to follow.

She was going to regret this.