The hum of the Normandy SR-2 quietly running through space was amplified in the static silence of Miranda Lawson's office, garbled into a sound resembling an air conditioning unit's discriminate murmur. The blue-eyed brunette looked up from her computer and her sharp features genetically tailored were outlined by the blue light on the console, pale skin sparkling as though embedded with diamond dust.
"Commander," she said politely with a short nod.
"You wanted to see me, Miranda?" Shepard's tone was official. The young Cerberus agent rarely called upon her for anything less than business.
"I did. Please," Miranda pushed away from her desk and motioned to the cushioned seating near the window, "have a seat."
Shepard's glaucous blue eyes glanced perceptively from Miranda to the couch and back again as the brunette finished typing some holographic keys and then gathered a datapad into her arms. She punched one last button and the door lock went red.
This is going to be a long night, Shepard thought, mentally preparing herself for the Cerberus operative's worst. Miranda was an all-business, no-nonsense kind of woman. She was confident, talented, and cold. Typically. She knew Miranda had it in her to be human; she'd seen her frantic state when she'd asked Shepard's help relocating her sister. She saw the absolute love in her eyes when Miranda stood face-to-face with Oriana and spoke to her as family.
Of course, as soon as it had ended and they returned to the Normandy, the cool persona had returned and the professional, albeit sometimes bitchy, Ms. Lawson she knew and served with returned to haunt Shepard's every proceeding.
Shepard pushed her auburn red hair away from her eyes and sat down when her XO joined her. Miranda's slim fingers clutched the datapad and her gaze lingered at the top while she decided the best way to start the conversation. This looks serious, Shepard thought. Had she ever seen Miranda so hesitant on an issue not related to Oriana? Perhaps that was it. Perhaps Oriana was in danger, once again.
"Something wrong, Miranda?" Shepard pried, trying to get the ball rolling. Miranda looked up and blue eyes met blue.
"Sorry, Shepard. This isn't the easiest thing for me to say." She stood up. "Would you like a drink?"
She turned before Shepard could indicate and crossed the room her bed chamber behind her desk. She returned with a bottle of unmarked whiskey and two tumblers. She poured a couple shots in each glass after she sat and slid one over to her CO but Shepard didn't reach for it. Miranda took her glass in both her hands and stared at the swirling liquid.
There was silence again where Shepard became very aware of the hum of the ship. It filled up the space and reminded her of the old Normandy. Miranda's office was where her office used to be, Miranda's bed where hers once sat. The energy warping in purple streams outside of the four inch thick, carbonite reinforced plastiglass windows gurgled and garbled like tornado-worthy winds. It wasn't an unfamiliar sight or noise, but her awareness of it was heightened now that this space was no longer her own.
And she didn't want it. The design was changed enough that Miranda's occupation of the room did not feel invasive. It wasn't the original Normandy, anyway. There were only ghosts of memories, not places that she could touch and smell and remember the truth.
"Thank you for being patient with me, Commander," Miranda said with a small smile, pulling Shepard out of her thoughts. She visibly swallowed. "Were you aware that, prior to the Collector attack on the SSV Normandy two years ago, you were nearing five months pregnant?"
The muscles in Shepard's face fell loose.
The memory hit her like a concussive shot to the chest and her eyes like glassy blueberries suddenly stung. Her brain replayed the happiest moments of her life in vivid clarity and surreal colors like the memory banks of a drell. She saw copper brown eyes under black brows caressed by blue light. Soft lips, wet tongue on hers. Hard body, warm skin caressing. Sweaty. Panting. I love you… A smile across the mess hall. Tender breasts under a cotton shirt. Swollen in the mirror. Blond hair, small nose, mousy voice. Yes.
Shepard's hand went instinctively to her stomach when she felt the tiny whirl inside and she was pulled out of her past. Miranda sat quietly across from her, expression painfully warped as though she were the one bleeding out from the concussive blow.
"Yes," Shepard replied, voice raspy from the sudden salivary build-up in her throat. She cleared it. "I remember."
"Who all knew?" she asked softly.
"No one," Shepard replied, "except for a young doctor working out of a small clinic in a remote town on a faraway planet called Thunawanuro in the Batalla System of the Omega Nebula. We were hunting the geth out that way when I realized there was something different about my body. We took shore there for a few nights—Thunawanuro is an elcor-inhabited world and they were friendly to us."
Miranda's gaze dropped to the swirling caramel-color drink she still held and watched the ripples in the liquid form from her slightest movements. Shepard's story felt far away and it crawled into her consciousness before she even realized it had touched her. This was not a soldier's tale. This was a tale told woman to woman.
"She confirmed my fears; I was pregnant—only three months at the time. I had managed to hide it well. No one suspected anything was wrong. The N7 uniform concealed a lot."
"It couldn't hide it forever."
"I know—I knew. I was living every day as normally as possibly, trying to figure out my next step."
"Racing into combat every day… that couldn't have been healthy for the baby."
Shepard closed her eyes for a beat. Her tone was hard, regretful.
"No. It wasn't."
Miranda shook her head.
"I'm sorry, Shepard, I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay…" Shepard slowly opened her eyes and then jerked forward, snatching up the tumbler and taking a deep gulp. It burned all the way down. "Who knows?"
"No one. I destroyed the local record and system log during the attack on the station—all but one private copy. I thought you might want it for yourself."
Shepard managed a nod and took another gulp of her drink. Miranda stretched across the table and refilled her CO's tumbler.
"Did you know the father?"
"Of course," Shepard snapped, instantly regretting it; Miranda hadn't intended to insult her. "You already know the answer, right?"
"I do," Miranda replied. "But, I figured if you wanted me to know… you'd tell me about the man he really was, not just the name and list of medals and accommodations on his Alliance record."
Shepard tried to stand up, but her knees were weak. It took a moment of collecting her strength before she was able to cross to the window and stare out past her reflection, past the rushing, purple streams to the star-littered black of space.
"Kaidan Alenko was… is everything that file says about him." She pursed her lips, remembering the small details no Alliance record would ever have. "His voice was deep and husky and soft. His eyes were piercing. Miranda, he was beautiful. He was sexy."
The XO smiled from her position on the couch.
"I saw photos. He's very easy on the eyes," she admitted. Shepard twisted at the torso to eye the brunette from over her shoulder. The gleam in her squinting eyes and the twitch in the corner of her lips told seemed pleased.
"His photos are great… but they don't do him justice." Shepard turned back to the window. "When we were together, everything else just melted away. I don't remember any of it—just him. and he was strong, powerful. He went with me every mission I took save for a brief run across Virmire. He made me feel safe."
Shepard's eyes vibrated subtly as she disappeared into one of countless memories of Kaidan's shoulder pressed to hers, his back against hers.
"Miranda," Shepard began, voice quiet in the stillness of the room. "Do you remember the first time you fell in love? Do you remember the butterflies in your stomach?"
"Yes…"
"Every time he looked at me—every time I heard his name—I got butterflies in my gut and my stomach did flips and whirls. My heart fluttered." The tears were coming before she even realized it. They were building up at an alarming rate, quickly massing under her cheeks. "It still flutters. I still have butterflies…! When the Illusive Man told me he was on Horizon, my heart started pounding. I ran so hard, fought so hard—terrified, scared, I was going to lose him, he was going to die, the Collectors were—"
Shepard tipped forward and thunked her head on the glass, stopping herself from going into meaningless hysteria. She pushed the lump out of her throat, the adrenaline out of her system, and silently reminded herself that that nightmare was just a bad dream.
"When I heard his voice… when I saw his face…" She pushed away from the window. "The butterflies went wild…"
There was a long drawn out minute where neither woman said anything. Shepard didn't need to tell Miranda what had happened on Horizon following their brief reunion; the Cerberus operative already knew.
"I'm sorry," Miranda said quietly. Shepard returned to the couch with movements like molasses. She knocked her drink back. "You decided not to tell him."
"I wanted to but… I still wasn't sure what I was going to do. He would've been happy… He would've been a wonderful father." Shepard slowly forced herself to make contact with Miranda's blue gaze. She had a question needing answering. She was afraid to ask. "How did you… I mean… Was it a…"
Miranda reached across the table and took a firm hold on her CO's hand.
"A boy," she replied. "You were going to have a son."
Nothing could have stopped the tears that broke out of her. They fell in hot lumps and streams over her lids and poured down her cheeks in irresponsible tracts, dribbling down her chin and neck. She brushed stray strands of hair from her face and carried the wet to her ears and forehead. The sobbing continued, marking her thighs and kneecaps with dark stains.
"She wanted to tell me—said she could—I told her no—I said I didn't want to know," Shepard murmured on heaving breaths, crying too hard to form complete sentences. "I was scared—so scared—there was just space and I was flying out in it—looking everywhere for an escape—a plan—ever a soldier—not a soldier this time—a mom." She nearly screamed. "I had to save him but—the tear in the suit—oxygen just poured out—I panicked—not for me—for him—I panicked—I struggled for air—for his air—and then—"
As Shepard sat gasping for breath between violent sobs, Miranda felt tears on her own cheeks. She thought the proper thing to do among women would be to hug Shepard, but it somehow didn't feel right. There were some levels of pain that could not be hugged into quiet.
The minutes ticked by and Miranda let her commander mourn a loss she should've mourned months ago. She kept her hand in Shepard's and ignored the pain when she squeezed a little too hard. When the hard crying became muffled whines, she slipped her hand away. Then the whimpering turned into ragged breathing and then calmed into quiet.
"Shepard, I wanted to tell you something." Miranda slid the datapad across the couch, although Shepard didn't go for it. "I just received the last report of the Lazarus project. In spite of everything your body suffered… you can still have children."
Shepard lifted her head and the tear-streaked and red-eyed face startled Miranda. She'd never seen Shepard so human before—not even when she was lying on her operating table as mere flesh and blood.
"I can," she said, then scaled up the sound of the N, changing a statement to a question.
"You can." Miranda offered a smile. "Maybe, in this chaotic world… there's still a chance for you and him… and a family." She let the thought linger for a moment before continuing. "Can I ask… what it was like?"
"Like… a miracle…" Shepard replied. "The wonder and awe of every hopeless situation survived, the amazement and profound relief of every battle walked away from… they pale in comparison to the feel of a child squirming inside you."
Miranda suddenly stood up and walked across the room. She kept her back to Shepard, head down and one hand to her mouth. She was upset; it was easily tracked in her movements.
"I can't have children," Miranda announced, and Shepard remembered reading that on the dossier correspondence list in the Shadow Broker's chamber. It had been preceded by online meetings with various men; it suddenly occurred to Shepard that Miranda hadn't been shopping for a lover, but rather a father…
"Miranda, I'm sorry…"
"All the best in genetics that money can buy, and I'm to be childless." Miranda turned to face her CO and Shepard could see the glassy tears falling down the XO's cheeks. "I envy you, Shepard."
For every moment Shepard had ever thought Miranda cold and heartless, she cursed herself and wished she could take it back. Inside of a soldier not unlike the rest of the Normandy crew was a woman who wanted a chance at a regular life, who wanted to be a mother.
When Saia Shepard left Miranda Lawson's office that day, she did something she'd never done before. She looked back. She looked back with a heavy and thankful heart. She wanted to beat the Collectors, beat the Reapers even more than before. She wanted to beat them for a second chance with Kaidan, at having a son.
She wanted to beat them for Miranda and the hope there was a way.