Note: So I wrote this earlier in lieu of updating Blood from a Stone, and it's unbetaed and I'm drunk. Forgive everything, including my lack of sobriety, and therefore, judgment.
They hate each other instantly, Operative Lawson and Commander Shepard.
Mostly because the former doesn't have time for Shepard's heroics or flagrant disregard for Cerberus, and because the latter doesn't like frosty, distrusting second-in-commands-that-could-also-be-working-against-you-on-the-sly.
So, inevitably, even Jacob Taylor, who will be the first to admit he's pretty ignorant when it comes to emotional situations, can figure from the first moment that the leader and the subject of the Lazarus Project interact that there's going to be some intense turbulence ahead.
Severe, intense turbulence.
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Operative Lawson's spent years putting Commander Shepard back together, practically knows the woman's biological and physiological characteristics almost by heart. She can recognize that red blood cell count from anywhere, trace out the exact lines of her facial scarring simply because she was the one that monitored it, or recite the Commander's chest-hip-waist ratio from memory (which she will never admit is frustratingly more appealing than hers).
But despite all the things that the Operative knows about the Commander, Miranda Lawson doesn't truly have a clue about the mysterious Darby Shepard until the night Miranda's pissed and Shepard's had too much alcohol and not enough sleep.
"Commander, I need to speak with you about what happened today with Jack," Miranda says, bursting into Shepard's cabin only to find her throwing back a shot of ryncol with bloodshot eyes.
"Not now, Miss Lawson," replies Darby Shepard dismissively, pouring another shot and not even bothering to look over her shoulder. She's sure Miranda can practically hear the exasperated sigh that's implied, but she's exhausted after a long day, and the nightmares of asphyxiation, like always, will plague her for hours tonight. She really doesn't have the time or energy for this, and Shepard doesn't plan on finding any.
The Cerberus agent was irritated to begin with, but to be ignored so blatantly has her seeing red, tired of Shepard's defiance. People pay attention to her, whether it's because she's drop-dead gorgeous or she's got brains and leadership skills: either way, Miranda Lawson is not one to be ignored, even by the great Commander Shepard. "You had no right to give Subject Zero access to her Cerberus files," says Miranda sharply, grabbing the bottle from Shepard's hand and slamming it down on the table.
She's surprised, to say the least, when Shepard's strong hand grips her wrist tightly, almost painfully, and Darby's blue eyes almost glow red in the dark lighting of her cabin. Her scars are as prominent as ever, still just barely healing. "Remember who runs this ship, Operative," warns Shepard, narrowing her eyes.
The agent scowls, the frown lines deepening on her flawless face. If Shepard wants to pull rank, Miranda is more than willing to play that game too. "I have the Illusive Man's personal permission to override your decisions in regards to Cerberus," says Miranda almost snidely, snatching her arm back in defiance.
Impatient and exasperated, Darby's hand slams down on her desk, rattling the shot glass and startling the other woman. "I don't give a fuck about what the Illusive Man says," she snarls, shoving her chair out from underneath her and stalking towards Miranda.
It's the most volatile she's ever seen Shepard, but the biotic stands her ground, crossing her arms and regarding the Commander's heated anger with cool eyes. Shepard's face is inches from hers, eyes locked in a battle of wills until Miranda calmly breaks the silence with her usual modus operandi.
Because if there's one thing Miranda Lawson knows almost to the point of instinct, it's how to be a stone cold bitch.
"Had I known the great Commander Shepard would turn out to be such a bloody child, I would've told the Illusive Man to leave you for dead."
As soon as the words leave her mouth, Miranda regrets it. Because she has to admit, that was harsh even by her standards, and Shepard's obviously a little out of character (read: drunk).
She can't regret it for long, because in an instant Shepard's face goes red and her eyes flash, and Miranda barely has time to notice before she's shoved against the wall, the wind knocked out of her. Miranda's strong, but Darby's infinitely stronger, and she's got her hands pinned to the wall on both sides of Miranda's head.
Miranda's breath catches in her throat and her muscles tense. But as quickly as Shepard pins her, the Commander lets go, and her face softens so drastically it looks like she'd never been angry a day in her life. And suddenly Darby looks exhausted when she pulls away, her eyes glued the ground. This must be what a wolf looks like with its tail between its legs, Miranda realizes. And that's when she sees something in Shepard that's beyond her status as a project, a subject to be watched, a superior officer to follow, especially when a broken, tired voice breaks through the silence.
"Sometimes, I really wish you had," whispers the other woman, who Miranda realizes isn't the Commander.
It's just a woman named Darby, a tired soldier and not the savior of the galaxy. Two things that Miranda realizes are vastly different, yet somehow, one and the same.
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Inevitably and eventually, Miranda apologizes for being out of line, actually says the words "I'm sorry," as uncomfortable as they make her feel. She's probably said them all of three times in her entire life.
Shepard must be out of her element too, because she's the type of woman who's never sorry either. She doesn't even actually say the words actually, just keeps her eyes to the floor when she enters Miranda's office and says gruffly, "Me too," before flinging some reports on Miranda's desk and leaving without another word.
When Miranda's eyes stay glued to her retreating form, she simply chalks it up to caution and confusion.
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Later, when she thinks about it, it's a little strange how Miranda's the only one Shepard doesn't really get along with on the ship. Not that she's exactly a joy to be around, but the Commander can play cards with a psychopath, compare guns with a savage, discuss techniques with an assassin. She can gush over engines with the quarian and discuss complex scientific theories with the salarian, but she can't be in the same room with Miranda Lawson without both of them getting into some sort of pissing contest or screaming match. It's intriguing, to say the least.
Surprisingly, what seems like a foundation for a horrible working relationship filled with mistrust and resentment is apparently, also one for something else entirely.
Miranda's having a cup of coffee in the mess, contemplating if she somehow put too much cybernetics in Shepard's body (and inadvertently created some sort of terminator-asshole type cyborg) when Jack saunters in. Her permanent scowl deepens when she notices the Cerberus agent, and Miranda's instantly steeling herself for another annoying discussion.
The tattooed woman rolls her eyes when she notices Miranda's back stiffening, and she yanks open the fridge to grab a soda. Cracking it open and slurping, she says in a disbelieving, laughing tone that is just obviously meant to goad Miranda: "Well, shit."
Miranda is so not going to rise to the bait, but she can't help it when Jack keeps sort of snickering to herself. "What?" she barks eventually, caving.
The biotic shrugs. "I couldn't give a lesser fuck about what's going on with you and the Commander, but shit. Really? Didn't peg you for desperate." Jack mulls over her words, then recants. "Well, that desperate," she adds with a grin.
Rolling her eyes, Miranda bites back the urge to huff, unwilling to show Jack how capable she is of getting under her skin. Coolly, she asks, "Are you just going to keep making vague insults or are you just going to get it over with? I think you and I both have better things to do. I need to check the Normandy's probes, and you need to…do whatever it is you do. Sulk and take out your teenage angst on someone else, I suppose."
Jack laughs, but there is no mirth in it, just bitterness and insult. "It's you and Shepard," she says with a wave of her hand, like that indicates anything remotely concrete.
The agent drums her fingers against the table, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?" Miranda asks impatiently, especially because Jack is emphasizing her slurps as she drinks the soda and Miranda absolutely hates that sound.
Jack shrugs again. When she speaks next, her voice is as nonchalant and self-satisfied as it is when she's talking about killing people and stealing things: "You guys are constantly butting heads when really all you wanna do is be bumping uglies."
For a dramatic moment, Miranda believes she must be having an acute myocardial infarction or some sort of stroke, because immediately Miranda's infused with heat as her brain seemingly short-circuits. She's mortified to hear her voice stumble nervously over her words. "I…You…what?" she asks, stunned.
This time, when Jack laughs, it's actually because she's really amused. Immensely so, if how she can't stop laughing gleefully in Miranda's face is any indication. "Cheer up, princess. No one else knows."
Miranda is ashamed to feel a rush of relief because that would imply that everything that Jack is saying is true, which it most certainly is not. Just because there's tension between her and Shepard, it doesn't mean that it's necessarily sexual. She's frowning, thinking about how Jack is just acting juvenile, trying to goad her, over-sexualizing everything-
Her frown unconsciously deepens and Jack snorts. She's missing out on the joke again, because Jack grins like she can't wait to get to the punch line.
"Just kidding. Everyone aboard this fucking ship except the Commander does. I'm thinking about starting a betting pool. Anyway," She says as she waggles her fingers at Miranda with that insufferable smirk. "Toodles!"
Feeling shaky and decidedly unnerved, Miranda haltingly gets up and dumps out the rest of her coffee in the sink, attributing her jitters to too much caffeine.
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Miranda purposely doesn't think about what Jack said, because suddenly, there are more important things at stake, more important to her than even stopping the Collectors right now.
She's a little bit ashamed that she has to resort to asking Shepard for help when she hears the news about Oriana, but nothing will get in the way of protecting her little sister. Not even her pride.
It wasn't like Miranda expected Shepard to say no. She'd been helping out everyone else with their problems, and as crude as she is, Shepard has a good heart and a decent head on her shoulders. Miranda supposes it comes along with the territory of saving the galaxy, but despite all this, she's still nervous when Shepard walks into her office, asking about the message Miranda left with Kelly.
Eventually, Miranda swallows back her pride and requests Shepard's assistance as casually as she can, embarrassingly rambling on about her past and how she needs to protect Oriana but she knows how they don't have much time—
"I'll set a course for Ilium now," says Shepard calmly.
"Oh," Miranda says, a little surprised until she remembers her manners. "Thank you, Shepard," she adds with the utmost sincerity.
Darby simply nods with the slightest, briefest quirk of her lips before she leaves Miranda's office as quietly as she came.
Miranda gets a strange feeling in her stomach when she realizes that that was Shepard's version of an actual smile, but she takes a deep breath and believes that the surge of emotion she feels is just relief.
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Later, after lots of gunfire and vague explanations, Oriana's adoptive parents wander off to allow the siblings some time to talk in private.
Oriana herself has adjusted pretty quickly to the reality of the situation, and Miranda can't help but feel immensely proud of her.
"Wow," says Oriana, exhaling sharply. "I…How can I ever thank you for how much you've done for me?" she asks, looking up at her big sister with her matching blue eyes. "All these years…" her voice trails off, thinking about every moment she felt like her guardian angel was watching and realizing that that was Miranda.
Miranda laughs through the tears welling in her eyes. "I know," she says, "And you don't have to thank me." She sniffs, trying to regain composure. "But I didn't do it alone, you know." Miranda nods towards the Commander, who is a distance away engrossed in a conversation with Mordin.
When Oriana turns to look at Shepard for the first time, her eyes widen. "Is that Commander Shepard? Like, Saren-killing, Citadel-saving Commander Shepard? So the rumors about her being alive were true?" Miranda nods indulgently as Oriana continues to discreetly observe with muted awe. "They used to show her on the news all the time. She's much more beautiful in person," she notes absently, unaware of the instant flush on Miranda's face.
"Yes, well," Miranda coughs, clearing her throat. "She helped me get to you in time."
"How do you know her?" asks Oriana, brows furrowed in confusion.
"I kind of…work for her," the Cerberus agent hedges, because the less Oriana knows, the less she has to worry about.
"But you're not Alliance," Oriana notes the N7 armor Shepard refuses to take off (no matter how many Cerberus armored uniforms Miranda places in Shepard's cabin), and Miranda just has to smile again at how smart she is. "What do you do?"
Her smile falters a little. "I can't really say. But the less you know, the better."
"Confidential, huh?" asks her little sister teasingly. "You know, now that I know you, I can be the annoying littler sister that pesters you for all your deep dark secrets."
Miranda laughs out of sheer happiness for the first time in years. "I can't wait," she says, meaning it with all of her heart.
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Inevitably, things change after that. And as minute as the changes are, Miranda can't help but notice them.
Especially when Jacob Taylor of all people brings it up when she delivers new schematics for a weapon a few days later.
"Is everything all right?" he asks in that solicitous, overly concerned way of his.
Miranda narrows her eyes in suspicion. "What do you mean?"
He raises his hands in a conciliatory fashion. "Nothing. You just seem…" Jacob pauses, never believing that he'd ever use this word to describe Miranda Lawson. "A little…happy?"
She looks at him like he's an idiot. "You mean despite the fact that we're rushing to launch a suicide mission to save the galaxy?"
Jacob sighs, crossing his arms against his broad chest. "Sure. But I meant more of about how you and the Commander have definitely been less…argumentative lately. Friendly, even?"
Raising an eyebrow, Miranda says almost defensively, "Well, I couldn't have saved Oriana without her."
"So you've said. Many times already," notes Jacob dryly.
"Oh," Miranda says. She clears her throat, and when she speaks, it's all ice-queen Operative Lawson. "The Commander has shown great promise in the field. Despite my initial reticence, I've come to acknowledge that her skills are…impressive."
Jacob smiles, almost like he knows something Miranda doesn't, and she can't help but feel like he's silently laughing at her. The moment passes, but when he addresses her next, his tone seems inexplicably knowing. "She sure is something," he comments lightly, smirking to himself when Miranda seems to gaze off into the distance, lost in thought.
"Yes," she says, almost to herself. "She is."
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They have the unpleasant menial task of getting physicals done monthly, and as Dr. Chakwas finishes up with Miranda, she idly toys with her stethoscope, looking like something's on her mind.
"Is something wrong?" asks Miranda, concerned.
The doctor looks contemplative for a moment. Hesitant, even. "I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't think it was important, but the Commander isn't well."
Miranda's breath hitches for a moment, before she demands, "Is she all right? What's wrong?"
Dr. Chakwas shakes her head, a little smile playing on her lips briefly for reasons unknown to Miranda. "Physically, for the most part, she's in unbelievably good shape. But mentally…I'm sure you've noticed her growing exhaustion. I'm afraid one day she'll just collapse if nothing is done about it."
Miranda has noticed how progressively weary Shepard's been looking, but she chalked it up to the stressful situations in which they constantly found themselves. Upon closer examination, however, she realizes Shepard has been just a little off-kilter. Unnoticeable for the most part in front of the team, but when they're alone in Miranda's office for shop talk or skirting attempts at friendship, the slouch of a bone-deep fatigue is more than evident, as are the deeper lines of worry in her face, or the sleepless, bloodshot eyes.
"Do you think it's just stress, or…?"
"The Commander advised me not to say anything to the crew, but I think you're an exception. Naturally, the trauma of death would entail severe psychological consequences. Especially if the death is one's own," Dr. Chakwas replies. She sighs, settling heavily into her seat. "She's been having nightmares since the day you woke her up. But over the past month, they've been getting more severe."
"How do you know all this?"
"The Commander confided in me yesterday during her physical," replies the doctor. Miranda looks troubled, and Dr. Chakwas smiles as reassuringly as she can. "Miss Lawson, I've been with the Commander for years. I've seen her in all sorts of different physical and emotional states, but I've never seen her be open or vulnerable in front of her crew. I could tell it took a lot for her just to tell me."
Uneasily, Miranda shifts her weight, concern marking her face. "Then why are you telling me?" She asks out of honest curiosity.
The smile Dr. Chakwas gives her is a little like Jacob's, where it seems a bit too knowing for Miranda's comfort. "Because she's been my friend through thick and thin," she says fondly. "Darby is more than just my Commander, Miss Lawson," the doctor adds, looking pointedly at Miranda. "…And I think you feel the same way."
"The Commander and I are friends," Miranda accidentally blurts, tone insistent. Why, she doesn't know, but either way, it's somewhat embarrassing.
Dr. Chakwas eyes her for a moment, then innocently says, "Of course. What did you think I meant?"
The barest hint of a blush colors Miranda's cheeks, but she simply nods and says, "Right. I'll see what I can do," before she turns stiffly to leave the medical bay.
As the door shuts behind her automatically, Dr. Chakwas turns back to her desk, shaking her head fondly.
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Later, the doors to Miranda's office slide open with a hiss.
"You wanted to see me, Miranda?" asks Shepard, standing in the doorjamb.
The involuntary smile that comes to the Cerberus agent's face is more than just a polite one. "Yes," she says, gesturing towards the couch at the back of her office.
When Miranda hesitates for a little too long, looking troubled, Darby immediately is on the alert. "Has something happened? Is Oriana all right?"
Miranda smiles again briefly. "She's all right, Shepard. I've been talking to her when I can, and I think her new location is safe." The Commander leans back, reassured. "But I didn't want to talk about Oriana. Or me."
Darby's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Then what did you want to talk about?"
"You, Shepard. I can't help but notice how exhausted you've been looking lately. Is everything all right?"
The Commander instantly stiffens. "I trust that my performance has still been satisfactory. Is your boss concerned that I can't do my job?"
"No," Miranda says emphatically. "The Illusive Man has nothing to do with this. I'm the one asking."
Her stiff posture immediately relaxes, and Shepard almost slumps back into the couch. She runs a hand roughly through her dark, cropped hair, looking defeated. "I…" she begins, then frowns. "I'm fine, Miss Lawson," she says, sounding anything but.
"Commander," says Miranda sharply in frustration, until her face falls and her voice softens. "Darby." When Shepard looks up at Miranda, the bags beneath her eyes are dark and heavy, twisting Miranda's gut in sympathy. "I know we didn't exactly start off on the right foot, and I apologize for underestimating you at first. But I trusted you to help me with Oriana, and with good reason." Miranda pauses, inhaling slowly. "And now I want you to trust me."
"Miranda, I…" Shepard says in mediocre protest, trailing off.
The agent pins her with a look. "You're always there for everyone, Shepard. But who's there for you?"
Darby twists her hands, looking everywhere but at Miranda. When the pregnant silence finally breaks, the Commander has the same broken voice that Miranda first heard months ago, resonating deeply with her just as it had then.
"I have nightmares," Darby admits hoarsely. "They're just stupid dreams…but I can't sleep for fear of them." Her harsh whisper belies her shame, but Miranda sees right through it. "There's only so much I can keep drinking to fall asleep without them." The Cerberus agent remains silent, watching Darby as she scrubs a tired hand down her face. "It's the same thing over and over again too. I'm just floating in space, and it's beautiful, you know?" The look on her face is wistful, until it hardens suddenly. "Until I realize the bright colors are from the fire and explosions tearing apart my ship. That the debris around me is also probably bits and pieces of my crewmembers. And that the hissing sound that keeps getting louder and louder is my fucking oxygen tank."
"Darby…" Miranda says, but Shepard's practically deaf as she relives her dreams.
"I'm grabbing and clutching at it, but the air just won't stop leaking and I just can't fucking breathe. I'm trying not to panic but I can't stop gasping and choking. I'm kicking and screaming until I realize I should save my oxygen and then, suddenly…Suddenly I just realize how pointless it is. I can't feel parts of my body, and other parts feel like they're bleeding fire. My lungs are folding in on themselves and everything just starts fading around the edges until I die all fucking over again, every night." Haunted, Miranda thinks. It's the only word she can think of to describe the look on Shepard's face as she continues. "And every morning, I wake up knowing that I'll either die again on the field, or die again in my dreams."
When Darby looks up, she expects to see Miranda's face full of disgust and embarrassment at how cowardly her Commander actually is. But instead, the sight of Miranda's unbearably gentle gaze, full of pain and empathy, greets her.
The Cerberus agent cautiously reaches out a hand to place on Shepard's shoulder, but the other woman instantly recoils, the shame evident on her face. "It's pathetic. I shouldn't have…I should go," Darby says uncomfortably, stumbling to her feet and practically running towards the door.
"Shepard, it's all—" Miranda calls out in vain. The doors already slide shut before she can finish. "-right."
The silence in her office is deafening, only broken by the sound of Miranda's exhausted sigh.
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The Commander doesn't take her on side missions for a week, nor does she take Miranda on the important mission of retrieving the IFF.
Miranda feels like punching something, but settles for glaring at Jack when she makes a comment about "the return of Frosty the Snowbitch."
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Days later, the entire squad boards the shuttle for a mission, leaving everything and everyone on the Normandy as it normally is.
When they return, however, everyone's gone except EDI and Joker.
"Everyone?" Miranda practically screeches at a shamefaced Joker. "And you damn near lost the ship too?" Being pissed was usually Miranda's form of panicking: it seemed much more dignified, somehow.
"It wasn't his fault," Jacob protests reasonably. "No one could've seen this coming."
As EDI agrees with him, Miranda watches Shepard place a gentle, comforting hand on Joker's shoulder, speaking softly in tones no one can hear except the pilot. He nods once, sighing, and suddenly not looking so pitiful.
Shepard looks up before Miranda can avert her gaze, and for a moment, the Commander stares at her with a gaze she cannot decipher.
"We need to take the fight to the Collectors," Miranda asserts, shaking off the sudden unnerved feeling she has (and always gets) when Shepard looks at her.
"Exactly what I was thinking," says Shepard softly before straightening her posture and steeling her voice. "Let's go get our crew back."
Something in Miranda's stomach twists and flutters, and this time she knows she can't chalk it up to anything or anyone else but Shepard.
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Everyone returns to their posts for the final seven hours they have before they reach the Omega 4 relay, but when Miranda goes to look (inexplicably reluctant to ask EDI), she can't find Darby anywhere.
That is, until she searches the engine room on a whim, and finds it entirely empty save for Darby's lone figure, standing as still as a statue as she gazes at the engine core. Miranda finds herself smiling fondly at Shepard's back, her posture ramrod straight and strong, something that Miranda would've noted in the past with admiration and not the affection she feels now. Lately, the disconcerting blurry fog of colors and feelings and words she associates with Shepard have been slowly coming into focus. Seeing Darby there, standing just like that…it all snaps into place, crystal clear. Miranda knows she'll follow her into hell itself, and not just because Darby's a damn good leader, but because if there was one person that could make hell bearable, it'd be Shepard.
Miranda thinks she's gone unnoticed in her musings until Shepard's voice breaks the silence. "I'm sorry about before," she says roughly, keeping her back to the approaching woman. "It was unprofessional and I shouldn't…I shouldn't have—"
"Darby," Miranda interrupts softly, forcing the other woman to look at her. When she speaks next, her voice is hesitant but strong, wavering but undoubtedly suggestive. "Perhaps I wouldn't mind if you'd be a little unprofessional with me." She steps closer to Shepard, invading her personal space until the other woman is forced to back into the control panel, surprise evident on her face.
For a terrifying second, it looks as though Darby's going to let her down easily, but it turns out Miranda's mistaken Shepard's silence for rejection. The warmth of Shepard's hands radiates through Miranda's jumpsuit when she cautiously places them on her waist, as if she expects to be burned. "I…I wanted…I didn't—"
"I know," Miranda says lightly, pressing closer into Shepard's body. "Same here."
"You've got some timing," Shepard says wryly, as the other woman rests her hands gently on Darby's upper arms, their faces inches apart. Darby finally closes the gap by resting her forehead against Miranda's, her expression shameful. "I was embarrassed before. To admit how big a chickenshit the great Commander really is. Especially to you."
Miranda pulls away sharply, frowning, "Shepard, you're—" The bravest person I know, the strongest, the best-
Darby interrupts her protest when her hand comes up to Miranda's cheek, thumb stroking her bottom lip, the touch as light as a feather. Miranda thinks maybe she's the one that's going to burn up, especially when Darby's dark blue eyes heatedly stare into hers, and her voice lowers into a rough whisper. "But I don't care anymore. We might not come back from this and I just don't fucking care. I want you to see all of me," she rasps, her other hand resting on Miranda's hip moving to her lower back, pressing Miranda ever closer. And Miranda does, as the Darby in front of her is the Darby from the first night Miranda truly saw her, but now she's the exquisite blend of the cool-headed Commander, the bloodthirsty hell-raising soldier, the raw and perfect woman.
"Yes," Miranda says, as if she could ever say no to the look Shepard was giving her, and when she speaks her mouth is so close to Darby's that their lips brush, not even a proper kiss but Miranda thinks she's already melting.
"And I want to see all of you," Darby growls, and Miranda was wrong, she's not melting, she's practically crumbling as she feels Shepard's muscles bunch beneath her hands as she lifts her up easily, hoisting her onto the perch of the engine controls and settling roughly between Miranda's legs. That perfect mouth is on her neck, hot and insistent, and Miranda's eyes roll to the back of her head in pleasure, and she doesn't care anymore either, she doesn't care which Darby or Commander or just Shepard this is, she loves every part of this woman, and her father sure did fuck up because Miranda isn't the perfect woman, the one in front of her is.
"God," Miranda groans as Darby's wonderful mouth is finally on hers, and if Miranda thought it was amazing sucking on her neck, then it was absolutely heaven sucking on her tongue. She pulls away, nipping at Darby's lip with sharp teeth. She tangles her fingers in Darby's shorter black hair, nails scraping at her scalp until Shepard's had enough and lifts her again, turning so that she's shoved up against the wall with her legs around Darby's waist, panting. As Shepard mouths heated kisses against the tautness of Miranda's clothed stomach, her lips burning through the leather, Miranda wonders absently how she ever could've been afraid of Shepard shoving her against the wall like that in the past, how she ever wasn't turned on like she was now. The thought causes her to nudge Darby forward with her hips, tug that dark head away from her stomach and Darby gets the message, grinning as she falls to the floor, falling flat on her back with a grunt, Miranda on top of her.
"You're perfect," she says in awe, as Miranda sits up, straddling Darby's hips with her own, creating a delicious pressure.
"We've discussed this," Miranda smiles teasingly, her voice lowered and rough. "I know."
Darby rolls her eyes playfully, and Miranda's filled with such affection and desire she grins wickedly in return, grinding downwards until she makes sure Shepard's eyes roll back in pleasure, not in jest. "Fuck," she grunts, her hands instantly coming up to grip Miranda's hips, tight enough that Miranda delights in knowing there'll be bruises there, later.
"That is the idea," she whispers in return, and she leans back, her hands going to the front of her jumpsuit, pulling at the zipper. Darby's got a dazed smile on her face, her eyes glued to the zipper's descent, her ears perking at the whisper of it. Miranda bites back a laugh as Shepard's eyes glaze over at the slow appearance of pale, unblemished flesh, the dark lace of her bra. Darby's rendered speechless for a moment, immobile, so Miranda unleashes that chuckle she was reining in as she leans downwards for another kiss. Her mouth must galvanize Darby back to life, because she feels nails scraping down her back as Shepard impatiently tears as much of the jumpsuit off as she can.
"Remember," Darby growls, "I said I wanted to see all of you," still tugging insistently at the leather.
"Oh," Miranda says breathlessly as Darby's kisses travel down from her throat to her collarbone and down further to – "God, yes. How could I forget?" she rasps, pressing Shepard ever closer to her as she feels a nimble, warm hand reach towards her back, fishing for the clasp of her bra.
"I don't know," Darby mumbles against the warm flesh of her breast, still pressing warm, wet kisses there, above the lacy material of her bra. "Guess I'll have to punish you," she says wickedly.
In a second, Shepard's got the clasp undone, and instantly Miranda's shrugging off the straps, slowly and teasingly, with hooded blue eyes. "Do your worst."
And Darby does.
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When Jacob Taylor hears loud banging noises and a considerable racket coming from the engine room, he immediately heads over to one of the security feeds to investigate.
"Jesus!" he barks out instantly, recoiling from the camera and shielding his eyes for the sake of his … less-than-decent-right-now superiors. He shuts the cameras off immediately (but not before sneaking one more guilty peek, of course, he's only human. A male one at that.) and he waits until the burning behind his ears dissipates slightly. "Intense turbulence, indeed," he smiles to himself, until a horrible realization sets in and he frowns, furrowing his brows. He presses one of the intercoms immediately, sighing as an angry voice answers him.
"Jack? I owe you 500 credits."