Author's Note: For some reason the last part of the first chapter didn't take the first time. It's there now. I think. Also fixed a goofy formatting error that was eliminating my page breaks, making for some bizarre reading. To answer any questions: no, the transitions weren't supposed to be QUITE so abrupt. :)

2 – A Difference in Perspective

Miranda

"I have the utmost respect for your abilities, Shepard. It's your motivations that concern me. Only time will tell if you prove to be an asset or a liability to our cause."

Shepard stared at her, his visage an undisguised picture of disgust. "That's lovely. I'll keep that in mind."

She watched him walk away, feeling decidedly unpleasant. She'd prepared herself for this eventuality, but it galled, no doubt about it. Oh, yes, it galled. To spend two years, two painstaking, claustrophobic, mentally-exhausting years rebuilding this man from death to full functionality, and he lacked the decency to so much as consider her perspective.

And now he's in charge.

She watched him chatting with Jacob. Jacob had warmed to him immediately.

"He's unbelievable," Jacob had told her, with Shepard closeted up with the Illusive Man, so to speak. "Even with the limited sample size, I can confidently tell you he's the best soldier I've ever seen, bar none. He was on autopilot against those mechs. Like watching a surgeon at his craft."

The unfeigned admiration in his voice had irritated her. Soldiers are soldiers, no matter how skilled. The Lazarus Project wasn't meant to resurrect a soldier – it was meant to resurrect a peerless leader, an icon, a symbol of humanity's strength and resolve. Could Shepard possibly be what the Illusive Man hoped he could be? Could anyone?

But there is something about him, she thought, watching him interact with Jacob. They chatted easily, soldier-to-soldier, man-to-man, but even watching them in this setting, there was a subtle difference between them. She prided herself on being perceptive, on being able to quickly and accurately read the strengths, weaknesses, and motivations of others, but anyone could see that Shepard was a leader. There was something about the way he carried himself, something behind his eyes that vested authority in his gaze, behind his voice that gave weight to his words. It was subtle, something that he didn't do consciously or even at all – it was just a part of him. The fact that he seemed almost unaware of it would make it easy for others to accept. She envied him that, though it rankled her to admit it, even to herself.

"Coming, Miranda?" Jacob asked. Shepard had moved on to the armory and seemed excited by whatever Dodgson was showing him. The pair of them were grinning at one another in a conspiratorial fashion.

"Yes," she replied, putting her thoughts to bed for the moment. My job now is to observe and follow orders. Let that be enough… Freedom's Progress awaits. Hopefully this doesn't end in disaster.

She sat in the far corner of the mess hall, picking at her food without really eating it, listening to Shepard's ongoing conversation with Mordin Solus.

Quite a character, that salarian, she thought with some amusement. Shepard seemed delighted with him. He claimed that talking with Mordin was "borderline psychedelic," a comment that had set both her eyebrows climbing. In Miranda's experience, "talking" with Mordin tended to be less of an exchange and more of a one-way transfer. She also found his tangential nature – whimsical, even – to be somewhat off-putting, where Shepard seemed to find it humorous and endlessly entertaining.

"Terrible, truly terrible," Mordin was saying. "Synthetic plague among most insidious of weaponry. Specifically designed to circumvent natural obstacles like species barriers. Much more focused than natural disease. Loss of life tragic…" Mordin paused, took a deep breath. "But inevitable."

"Was this plague the worst epidemic you've encountered?" Shepard asked.

"Close. Would have to say yes, in terms of actual figures – mortality rate, number of casualties, cross-species infection. Highly advanced technological origin. Worst epidemic, though…" Pause for breath. "No. Worst was epidemic of scale rot on Tuchanka."

"You worked on Tuchanka?" Shepard asked, somewhat incredulous.

"Not openly," Mordin replied. "During time with Special Tasks Group. Actually studying genophage. But, for a time, scale rot took precedence... in hearts and minds, at least, if not in actual business." Mordin shuddered violently.

"What is it, exactly?"

"Degenerative disease. Attacks living tissue, often concentrated around genitalia. Results often gruesome." Pause. Deep breath. "Stench… unbearable."

"So it spread among the krogan?"

"Yes. Disease actually originates with varren. Disgusting creatures. Veritable cesspools of disease-causing bacteria. Scale rot actually sexually transmitted. From krogan to krogan, can be transmitted easily, through physical contact. From varren to krogan, though… Implications disturbing. Cause of outbreak was never adequately determined. Possibly... for the best."

Miranda stifled a laugh at the look on Shepard's face, the look of a man presented with an image profoundly disturbing, yet unable to look away.

"How did you cure it?" Shepard asked, aghast.

"Cure? No, no. Task was to study genophage. Impossible to become directly involved with krogan. Few salarians on Tuchanka, often treated with suspicion and violence. Assigned task took precedence. Besides, krogan physiology remarkably adaptive and hardy. Plague ran its course within weeks."

"I would imagine something like that could be devastating for the krogan," Shepard observed, "as regulated as their population is."

Mordin nodded. "Quite so... but not so dire as one might anticipate. Relatively few casualties, actually. First week was worst. After, few deaths. Great deal of pain and suffering, though," he added soberly, as if discussing the weather. "And the smell. Always the smell."

Miranda looked back to her food and turned away quickly, her appetite having somehow evaporated. She considered returning to her office to look into whether the Illusive Man had any new instructions following her mission report, but she already knew what he'd say.

Continue to observe and support Shepard. I trust in your judgment, Miranda. The latter statement, if delivered in person, would carry an almost undetectable undertone: I trust you not to screw up. Don't. She really wasn't sure how she could possibly do anything that constituted much of a mistake, given how little authority she'd actually been given on this mission. The fact that she was the Illusive Man's eyes and ears seemed to have about as much of an impact on Shepard as a drop of dew on Kahje. Often, he seemed to intentionally subvert any of her attempts to ingratiate Cerberus' goals onto his agenda. If he determined her to be speaking directly on the Illusive Man's behalf, he would inevitably dig in his heels and become infuriating and impossible.

"Thinking about me?" Shepard sat down across from her, snapping her out of her reverie.

"What gives you that idea, Commander?" she asked testily.

"I like to think that particular expression of loathing and disgust is reserved exclusively for yours truly," he remarked, with a cheeky little lopsided grin on his face.

Miranda was not amused. "Did you have something you want to discuss, Shepard?"

"Yes," he said, suddenly serious. "Can we talk in private?"

She stood and walked him to her office. As the door closed behind them, she turned to him expectantly. The look on his face was foreboding; there was a determined set to his face that she didn't much care for.

"I wanted to tell you that I've decided to forward the Lorek files to Alliance Command."

"Then I would have to express my emphatic disagreement with that decision," Miranda replied, furious. "Shepard, there's no knowing what's in those files. EDI said it would take over a year for her to decrypt them. If the Alliance gets hold of them, there could be any number of adverse or potentially catastrophic effects for the entire Cerberus organization. What possible justification can you have for doing this? Is it your conscience? For heaven's sake, Shepard, you're a Spectre. There won't be any justice in any action the Alliance might take –

"I understand your loyalty to Cerberus," he interrupted quietly, staring her down with that raptor's gaze. "And to answer your question, I suppose my conscience does factor in the decision to a certain extent. But what I've seen in what EDI has managed to decrypt details operations that cost a number of uninvolved civilians their lives, human or otherwise, not to mention a great many Alliance marines. I'm not going to protect what amounts to a bunch of terrorist cells just because the Illusive Man built this ship and sent you here to watch after me. I've told you how I feel about this before."

"That's not –

"It's my decision," he interrupted firmly. "I thought you had a right to know because you're my XO, and I promise you that I understand your objections and take them to heart. If you still want to talk about this later, fine. But I've instructed EDI to forward the information to Admiral Hackett's people. She'll likely have done it by now."

You selfish bastard. She managed to control herself despite being nearly apoplectic with rage. Her cheeks were like fire, but there was nothing to be done for that. "It's your decision, of course, Commander. Now if you don't mind, I've quite a lot of work to do."

He took the dismissal for what it was, and if he did not look precisely regretful, he did look… discontented? Unhappy?

"Of course. I understand you're angry, but… I would like to talk more later, if you're open to it."

There was a moment's awkward silence, then he turned and left without another word. Miranda sat in silence for a long while. What could she do? As she'd expressed, there really was no knowing what was detailed in those files. The Eclipse operatives corresponding in the memo they'd discovered had been positively giddy at the edge that data could have given them against Cerberus activities. The best she could do would be to tell the Illusive Man of Shepard's decision and hope for the best.

He gets under my skin worse than just about anyone I've ever met, and he's probably not even doing it on purpose, she thought ruefully. He doesn't ever even raise his voice.

Because part of you can understand his reasoning, a nagging voice chimed in, from the back of her mind. Even if you don't agree… Perspective is everything, sometimes.

Perspective. She shook her head, opening her encrypted mail program to inform the Illusive Man of the esteemed Commander Shepard's latest grand edict.

If this keeps up, I might kill him myself.