The footsteps we're precise, measured, confident. Shepard didn't even need to look up to know who was approaching, instead he kept his eyes firmly focused on the shot glass in front of him.

The shot glass, its lime-green content, and their unspoken promise.

The footsteps stopped, the intruder was standing right next to him. "Take a seat, XO," Shepard said flatly without lifting his gaze from the table.

For a second, a hand rested on the Spectre's shoulder and then it was gone; Shepard tried to ignore the sense of life the brief contact sparked.

"I'm sorry," The rare warmth in Miranda's voice touched Shepard more deeply than her words, "if there had been any other way of getting that information..."

"I would still have gone to see her," Shepard told his glass, "still would have learned she–" The Spectre angrily bit off the rest of his sentence.

"You might not have," Miranda gently disagreed as she took Shepard's hand before the Spectre could reach for his glass, "You've been pushing yourself harder than anyone else; preparing the Normandy, inspiring the crew...helping Orianna and me...You haven't really taken any time for yourself since the Normandy launched."

Shepard wanted to wave off Miranda's words, but couldn't with the brunette's hand atop his. "I just took a personal moment," The Spectre said bitterly instead, "you can see how well it went."

"I can see that it hurt you," Miranda replied, "and I can see you don't want the others to know that. I know what that's like, being the one everyone else is looking to, being the one who can't be seen to break...and I know that everybody needs someone."

"I did – once," Shepard said as he raised his eyes to meet Miranda's, "then I died and she broke my trust."

"You were gone for nearly two years," Miranda's clear blue eyes held the same look as they had the first time Shepard ever saw them, a mixture of concern and reassurance, "and she didn't, couldn't, know if we could even succeed. You shouldn't be angry at her for moving on with her life–"

"–Moving on?" Shepard angrily interrupted, "She found me, only instead of giving me back to the Alliance she sold me. Sold me to the same group that nearly killed me on Akuze, to the same group that's murdered, tortured, and experimented on people all in the name of humanity." The Spectre freed his hand from the pinning grasp of the Illusive Man's agent as his voice turned venomous, "Then she just walked away and started some mad crusade against the Shadow Broker, a crusade that's twisted her further into some cold-hearted monster." Shepard's hand finally snatched up the glass in front of him, slopping a little of the green liquid over the rim onto the table, but before he could raise it Miranda's hand seized his wrist.

"So Liara's not your innocent little scientist any-more," Miranda's anger was icy quiet, "she's made decisions for herself, decisions that you disagree with." The brunette's voice was contemptuous as she released the Spectre's wrist, "But at least, Shepard, she's not the one about to crawl into a bottle because her feelings were hurt."

The anger Shepard had been ignoring since leaving Liara's office surged as it finally found a target to lash at. "That's why you're here?" Shepard hissed, "You think I'm going to do what my father did after [Mindoir]; run away and let everything fall apart?" The Spectre's glass returned to the table as Shepard instead pointed a finger at Miranda's face, "Not all of us have a heart-of-ice, Miranda, sometimes we get hurt and we need to do something–"

The brunette Cerberus agent batted Shepard's accusatory finger aside. "So you decided to crawl into the first bar you could see through your tears," Miranda retorted, "and drink yourself senseless. Then what were you going to do? Stumble back to Liara's office and drunkenly beg her to take you back?" Icy blue eyes bore deep into Shepard's soul.

"Begging to monsters never works," Shepard snarled as he stared back, "especially to cold, blue-eyed–"

The force of Miranda's open-handed slap snapped Shepard's head to one side.

The Spectre slowly turned his head back to face the brunette sitting across from him, hands clenched tight as he worked his jaw.

Miranda stared back, her blue eyes still dangerously angry, but almost hidden behind the anger was something else...pain. "You should be careful what you say to cold-hearted monsters, Shepard," the brunette stated as she stood to leave, "sometime we react."

Shepard sat, listening to the fading sound of Miranda's hurried steps as she walked away, as he struggled with his own thoughts.