I know there are good reasons why I can't put proper links into a story, but right now that pisses me off. So here, the pathetic attempt at sharing with you the picture that put the idea of a Miranda who has loved Jack from the very first moment into my head: masseffectheadcanons dot tumblr dot com / image / 11191884374
. . . . . .
She'd never forget seeing her for the first time. The dossier had only ever mentioned that much. Something sharp and painful had risen inside her chest at the sight of her. There was no way to deny it. Such ferocity. Such a twisted, marred, heart-wrenching beauty. Her pulse had quickened in an alarming way. It never did that. She was too advanced for that. She was always calm. Nothing should have that effect on her.
She didn't know how to cope with it.
The truth was, Miranda had loved Jack from the moment she'd first seen her.
It was insane and unreasonable and absolutely inappropriate.
And Jack hated her.
All she could do was pretend she hated Jack just as much.
Most of the time it was easy. She had a whole life's experience at pretending. One way or the other. Her feelings had always been her own, and she guarded them closely, lest they be taken from her like everything else.
But sometimes she felt herself shatter under the sheer force of keeping up appearances.
So she called her a mistake. When all she wanted was to pull her close and do something, anything to banish the haunted, pained look from those beautiful, beautiful eyes. She wasn't proud of it. And she was proud of it. So much restraint.
It got only worse after that. Jack haunted her thoughts, her dreams. She felt guilty. She couldn't remember ever feeling guilty before. Luckily, she was so much more efficient than anyone else to begin with, no one but herself noticed the drop in her performance. A few times she thought it would actually be better if Jack did fillet her, she'd happily die at the other woman's hands. It would have been a mercy killing.
But Jack never made good on her threat, even after they'd defeated the Collectors. Perhaps because Miranda had quit Cerberus? She'd surprised herself with that, but then, it had been two parts common sense, one part loyalty to Shepard, and little actual regret. Or so she told herself. She wouldn't act on a sudden bout of ethics, now, would she? She pushed the thought aside irritably. It didn't matter.
. . . . . .
Shepard had talked about turning herself in to the Alliance, but they were still flying around the galaxy, helping everyone, and visiting the Shadow Broker for 'intel' and 'resources', which Miranda was pretty sure were little more than euphemism for sex.
She didn't mind being dragged along to fight mercs or husks, and she seemed to be the only person who could stand the Commander's 'driving' the hammerhead without being sick, but then, Shepard usually had enough sense not to take her and Jack on the same missions. Usually. Which was why Miranda was taken aback when she found herself in the shuttle, face to face with the woman she purported to hate.
"What's the fucking cheerleader doing here?"
"Ex-cheerleader, Jack," Shepard said calmly, making Miranda give her the coldest look she could muster. The Commander had Garrus and Tali in tow. "I need both of your skills for this."
"What's the assignment?"
"It's a job for the Shadow Broker."
"Great. I have to play nice with the princess so you can get laid?" Jack folded her arms in front of her chest. "Huh. Actually, that's almost cool. Better than working for Cerberus, in any case. Why d'you bring the tech parade? Are we in for some killin' 'n' calibratin'?"
"Laugh it up, Jack," Garrus muttered.
"Some agents have gone missing during a vital operation. We need to find them, or at least retrieve their intel. We'll have to get to their operation base first, see if we can find out what happened to them. They haven't reported back in days, as far as I know. Depending on what we'll find, we decide what to do next. Oh, and suit up, this is going to be cold. Especially you Jack, as much as you hate covering all that ink up, you'll freeze your nipples off otherwise."
"Keelah, Shepard, I didn't need that mental image."
Jack cocked an eyebrow, smirking.
"Do Quarians even have nipples?"
Miranda didn't feel like joining their oddly good-natured bickering. Jack's presence made her feel too vulnerable. She just stared out at the frozen planet below them, wishing she could be just as cold.
. . . . . . .
They found the main operation base deserted. It looked like it had been abandoned for quite a while. There were no traces of the agents, no traces of life at all. The power was out, too.
Shepard listened to something EDI was saying through the radio, then turned back to them all, frowning deeply.
"All right, bad news, guys. Apparently there's a blizzard coming our way and it would be better if we got this all over with fast. So Garrus and Tali will try to get the systems here running again and download whatever information they can find; Jack, Miranda, I know this is a lot to ask for, but I need the two of you to go look for a secondary building a few clicks away, see if there's any trace of the agents. I'll man the perimeter here."
"Alone? That doesn't sound like a good..."
"Consider this an order, Miranda. Now, here are the coordinates."
"Yes, ma'am," Miranda replied with the slightest hint of irony in her voice.
. . . . . .
"Ugh, this fucking planet is a frozen nightmare!"
Miranda didn't reply, just kept fighting her way through the increasingly heavier snowstorm.
What had Shepard been thinking?
"The fuck, can't Shepard fucking check the fucking weather report before doing shit like that?"
Empirical evidence had taught Miranda that the swear to none-swear ratio in Jack's sentences was a good indicator of how agitated she was.
"I think that's the building over there," was all she replied.
"Oh, great," Jack said sarcastically, but walked faster, anyway.
"Be careful!"
"Oh please, no one but us is stupid enough..."
Which was the moment when a missile hit the snow next to them.
"Dammit!"
"Over there!"
Miranda could barely make out their attackers through the snow. Jack was sending a shockwave their way, and she tried to slam them, but couldn't tell if it made a difference.
"Fuck, we're sitting ducks out here!"
"Barriers up and lets get to the entrance!"
Jack didn't even argue, which told Miranda just how bad their situation was. Jack kept sending shockwaves into the general direction of their enemies, snow rising in bursts in front of her, making it hard for Miranda to do anything at all but run forward. Eventually she was close enough to fire at the figures occasionally leaning out of cover at the building's entrance, bringing one down. But her blood froze when she heard Jack next to her cry out in pain.
"Jack?"
"Just a scratch!"
Miranda quickly fired another shot, then watched two of their attackers being lifted off the ground, and quickly hit them with a warp, detonating Jack's pull.
"Perfect," she found herself muttering appreciatively.
Once they finally arrived at the building, there were only another two enemies left in sight. Miranda slammed them into the ground before they even had a chance to attack them. She briefly turned to Jack, watched her slap medigel onto her side, where her suit was torn.
"Are you all right?" she asked loftily.
"I'll live. Not your lucky day after all, princess."
Miranda watched as Jack used her pull to unceremoniously haul the corpses out into the snow, then slammed the door shut, trying to hide the way she was shivering.
"Looked like pirates to me," she muttered.
"Let's check whether the building's clear."
There were no more enemies, but also no traces of the Shadow Broker agents. The place looked like it had mainly been used to store equipment. Mostly broken equipment, by the look of it.
"Let's just head back to the others."
"We can't go outside for now. Storm looks worse than ever. And I can't get in contact with anyone."
Jack groaned.
"Fuck. I can't believe I'm stranded here with you!"
Miranda looked at Jack with a half-hearted glare.
"Do you think I'm happy about this? We're trapped in a blizzard, it's freezing in here, and to top it all off, the only company is you. And you managed to get your bloody suit ruptured."
"Well, bitch, it's not like you helped much with the fighting!"
Miranda bit her lip. It was true, she hadn't been able to do much. Her attacks needed precision, which had been impossible in the snowstorm.
Jack kept pacing the room, one arm covering the part of her suit that had been torn during the fight, probably to very little avail, Miranda thought. She was cold enough herself, and her suit was fine.
"You can do some tech stuff, can't you?" Jack asked, the menace almost gone from her voice. "There's a heater over there..."
"There's no power. See if you can find a generator."
They did, eventually. It took her far too long, Jack cursing under her breath the entire time, but eventually Miranda got it working.
"It'll take a while for the heater to make a difference. Look around if you can find something useful, why don't you? Blankets would be nice. Food, too. There must be some supplies."
. . . . . .
"Fuck, why is it still not getting warm?"
It had grown dark outside, the room was only lit minimally by some still functional emergency lighting. Miranda looked over at Jack, sitting dangerously close to the heater, two scruffy blankets wrapped around her, looking angry and miserable.
"That generator isn't working very well, most things in here are little more than junk. And this room has a very high ceiling, and it's very cold, since the doors were open when we came in," she recited tiredly. "At least we have those blankets."
"They're not helping much!"
Miranda closed her eyes for a moment, then spat out:
"Then come here!"
"What?" Jack stared at her.
"You'd do anything to survive, right? Then strip and get under these blankets with me. Bring yours, too."
"Fuck," Jack muttered, but walked over anyway. Glared at Miranda, who looked away first, treacherous heart once more beating far too hard as she stripped to her underwear beneath the blanket.
"Fuck," Jack reiterated, but took off the torn suit, slipped below the blankets and pressed herself against Miranda.
"Dammit, you're cold."
"I know!"
This was worse than anything else had ever been, as far as she could remember. She didn't know what to do with her hands. She was acutely aware of every part of Jack's cold, trembling, skinny body pressed against her in that grudging travesty of an embrace, the rasp of stubbly hair against her shoulder. She didn't want to enjoy this, not the slightest bit. It was wrong. It was way beneath her dignity.
"Just pretend I'm not me," she muttered.
"Why do you do this?"
"The lecture I'd get to hear from Shepard if I let you freeze..."
Jack laughed lowly, to Miranda's surprise.
"Fair enough."
"Besides, I'm cold, too."
She reached out tentatively and put her hand to Jack's side, where her skin had to be at its iciest. Jack tensed, but didn't say anything, and Miranda rubbed her palm over her waist, trying hard not to think about where else she could put her hand, telling herself that would certainly be a death sentence. And not fair towards Jack, who was skittish enough as it was, and had to trust her, for the time being. And that almost painfully intense feeling rising inside her chest wasn't a fierce, terrified joy that made her want to weep. Not at all.
At least they were getting warmer, heat was spreading out from the places where their skin touched.
. . . . . .
Jack had fallen asleep at some point. Miranda didn't even feel remotely tired. Her position was growing uncomfortable, resting against a wall, though with several layers of blankets in between to keep out the worst of the cold, and Jack leaning against her awkwardly, head on Miranda's shoulder. She couldn't bring herself to disturb Jack's sleep, though. Her arms rested limply at her side, she didn't want to touch Jack when she was defenseless, it was bad enough that she was thinking about it. Her transmitter was lying next to her, she was waiting for someone to contact them, but so far nothing but static was coming from it.
Suddenly, Jack gave a low whimper and Miranda frowned. Another one, louder. She twitched, muttered something unintelligible. And then she cried out.
"Jack!"
She started thrashing, and Miranda held her flailing arms down, which was a mistake, she realised the next moment, as Jack yanked her arms free, then hit at her, blindly. Miranda felt a sharp pain against her cheek, and slapped Jack, reflexively.
"Wake up!" she yelled, alarmed as Jack's fists started glowing. She brought her barriers up as fast as she could, but the next moment, Jack looked at her, blinking, eyes big and owlish in the semi-dark, with dark smudges of mascara beneath. Then she pulled back fast, the glow of her biotics abating, blankets falling from her shoulders.
"Shit," she muttered, as Miranda touched her cheek, stared at the blood on her fingers. Jack had scratched her pretty badly.
"I didn't... I'm sorry," Jack whispered in an uncharacteristically startled voice.
"Like you care!" Miranda hissed angrily, regretting it a moment later, when Jack scrambled to her feet and backed away. "Jack, come back here. Don't be an idiot, it's still freezing." She drew two blankets firmly around herself, then made to stand up on her numb legs. But Jack was already making her way back, medikit in hand, and looking for all the world, and to Miranda's utter amazement, guilty, and shaken. She knelt down next to Miranda and rummaged in the kit.
"Hold still, princess," she said, and dabbed some very cold medigel onto Miranda's cheek. "It's not going to leave a scar, don't worry your perfect head about it. I know about scars."
"Well, that was odd. What just happened? And did you actually say you were sorry?"
Jack put the kit aside and wrapped a blanket around herself again, then gave an uncomfortable shrug.
"Hey, you've been all right today. I didn't mean to attack you."
"When you talked about filleting me, I didn't expect you meant with your fingernails."
She made herself believe Jack almost smiled at that.
"What did you dream about?"
Jack grimaced and looked away.
"None of your business."
"You look terrible."
"Well, fuck you, too, not all of us can be super-enhanced..."
Jack stopped dead in mid-sentence when Miranda cupped her cheek in one hand and wiped carefully at the smeared mascara and what looked awfully like tear tracks, now that she had a closer look.
"What are you doing?"
"You still have a lot to learn, Jack. You just don't buy the cheap Omegan no-name mascara," she said teasingly, feeling bold and unusually tender.
"Screw you!" Jack said, but smiled a little, to Miranda's relief. "You're such a bitch."
"I know. You wanna come back down here?" she asked, opening her blankets slightly, trying to keep all suggestive thoughts at bay.
Jack lowered her head, didn't look at her, but muttered: "Mmmh, all right," before inching forward and leaning against her slowly.
Miranda flinched at how cold she was again, but pulled her close, anyway.
"You know, you ain't half-bad, when you want to," Jack muttered. Then added as an afterthought: "And your tits are so fucking soft."
"Jack!" Miranda managed to sound scandalised, blushing a little.
"All pillowy-like. I mean, I don't want boobs as big as yours, they'd just get in the way all the time, but you know, right now, right here, they do have a certain appeal."
"Could you stop talking about my breasts?"
The soft laugh that was unlike any sound Miranda had ever heard coming from Jack actually made her heart ache. She allowed herself to rub her palms up and down Jack's back, just too warm her, she thought, nothing more.
. . . . .
When Shepard's voice finally cracked from the transmitter, some time in the early morning, and Miranda answered her, they broke apart without another word, dressed and waited for the shuttle to arrive. They had to climb out one of the higher windows, the door was entirely blocked by snow drifts, though the blizzard was over, at least.
"Are you two okay?"
"Oh screw you! We were attacked and freezing and stuck with one another! Does that sound okay to you? Check the weather report next time, why don't you?"
"Hey, I'm sorry, alright?"
"Sorry my ass! Ugh, forget it. I'll live, that's the only thing that matters, right?"
Jack stomped past Shepard, who rolled her eyes slightly, then she turned to Miranda.
"You didn't kill each other. Impressive." She narrowed her eyes. "There's blood on your cheek."
"Oh? Yeah, that must have happened during the fight. Jack got hit worse, though."
"Are you alright, Miranda?" Shepard frowned at her.
Miranda smiled.
"Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?"
Her gaze fell on Jack, who crawled into the shuttle.
"I'm perfectly fine."