Chapter Six

Shit in the Sack

2186 CE

The Citadel, Widow

As far as disguises go, it's so ineffective as to render it absurd, but Shepard keeps the brim of her cap tugged low as she moves amongst the huddled masses. The cap serves little purpose, the real disguise is anonymity. This part of the Citadel has changed beyond all recognition. The once pristine plazas are now crowded with emergency refugee housing – if one can call the haphazard jumble of crates anything so grand as 'housing.' Despair hangs in the air. It's practically tangible – written on the faces of those who have lost everything in the weeks since the Reaper invasion. The stench alone is almost thick enough to walk on.

Something soft gives way beneath Shepard's boot – rotten food, shit, whatever it is she doesn't pause. Others might have balked at the misery, feeling squeamish, or possibly have felt gut-wrenching sympathy for the plight of the unfortunates. Shepard feels neither. She's sure as hell not going to feel sorry for these individuals. Sure, they've been dealt a rotten hand, but most of them still have their lives intact. That alone should be all they need.

Well, that and a fucking gun.

Shepard pauses, looks around. She's in the right place but there's nothing here – nothing except a mountain of empty ration boxes waiting for disposal and more filth. There's a couple of figures skulking about in the shadows. Another limp shape is huddled near her feet, she resists giving it a kick to ascertain whether it's a threat. Shepard checks the message on her omni-tool again and wonders if it's all been a ruse to get her alone. Even the galaxy's hero has more than her fair share of enemies. Cerberus - goes without saying, especially after the stunt on Mars. Any number of merc groups she's pissed off over the years. Hell, that's not even mentioning ex-lovers. She snorts self-deprecatingly at the last. There haven't been many of those within recent memory, none since her return from the dead. Getting laid used to be a priority, now it's a hell of a long way down the list.

This has been a waste of her time – almost as much as begging the Council for their support. That humiliation is still fresh in her mind. She saved their lives, now they're running scared. Shepard turns to leave, absently wondering if Purgatory have increased the prices of their drinks in response to wartime rationing.

"Shepard."

The voice comes from the cloaked figure Shepard dismissed earlier. It turns out that it isn't some drunk refugee after all. Shepard turns and asks herself how the hell she missed the tell-tale signs. The individual looks non-threatening at first glance, but Shepard's now sees what she missed. It's not a slump, but a carefully positioned crouch. While the cloak is filthy, the fabric is expensive and well made. The figure tilts its head up slightly, Shepard catches sight of a pale chin and the beginnings of a smile. Her lips part in shock.

"Miranda?"

"Would you have noticed if I remained silent?"

The Australian twang is unmistakable and Shepard feels an surprising surge of relief. A part of her had feared that Miranda was dead.

"Nope, I'm getting slow in my old age," Shepard replies. It's not the truth. On the surface she's dead tired. There's fear too. She'd like to think that's simply because Ashley is broken in Huerta Memorial, but the reality of the situation extends far beyond one individual. However seeing Miranda Lawson narrows her perspective again. Her heartbeat speeds up of its own volition. "And you're not what I was expecting."

Miranda rises to her feet. The hood stays up, but Shepard can now see every detail of the former Cerberus Operative's face. There are changes etched both visibly and beneath the surface. The former are easy enough to spot. Shepard has long since committed that face to memory, to the fantasies that lurk at the back of her mind. Miranda's pale skin is almost translucent, making the blue of her eyes stand out in stark contrast…and the dark circles that ring them. Once flawless lips are chapped, suffering from inattention.

The other details are harder to pick up. Miranda has always been difficult to read, especially given the added complications of attraction, but Shepard knows the woman well enough to realise that she's hanging onto sanity by the barest of margins. It's in the eyes mostly. They're cold, devoid of any visible emotion except a lingering anger.

Shepard has to shake her head in disbelief. The giddiness is gone, replaced by a justifiable anger of her own. "Where the hell have you been, Lawson?"

"The real question is where haven't I been." Miranda sounds bitter. "I didn't know you were expecting a postcard, Shepard."

"Nothing so sentimental. Would it kill you to realise that there are people that care about what happens to you?"

"By people do you mean you?"

This reunion isn't going according to plan – or, more accurately, it isn't going according to her fantasies. Shepard's jaw tightens. Now, more than ever this futile attraction is something she can't afford to dwell on. Miranda's unobtainable. She needs to forget about it and get back to the serious business of trying to save the Galaxy.

"I mean that you're an invaluable asset, Lawson. You may not have noticed, but the Reapers are here. Some of us are trying to stop them. Having you on our side would make that job a little easier."

Miranda shakes her head. "I think you overestimate my abilities, Shepard."

Shepard arches an eyebrow. "Do I?"

There's no reply from the raven-haired woman, just an uncharacteristic silence. Shepard is not the type of person to fill such silences with inane chatter, so she simply folds her arms across her chest and waits. It's only now that she notices Miranda's icy façade has slipped slightly, revealing exhaustion and a palpable sense of hopelessness. Shepard may have spent much of the past seven months locked up, but she suspects that Miranda's personal hell has been far worse.

"Miranda…you should be back on the Normandy. It's where you belong. You'll be able to stop running from Cerberus. I promise you that."

A slight smile ghosts across Miranda's face. Shepard thinks it might be one of gratitude and her heart flutters slightly. She curses inwardly. Unobtainable, she reminds herself.

"I will take you up on that offer, but not yet," Miranda replies, oblivious to Shepard's discomfort. The smile is gone now, but determination replaces the fatigue. "And I'm not running, Shepard. I'm hunting."

2208 CE

Nevos, Teyolia System

Miranda arched her back off the bed, searching for as much friction as possible in the final moments. Her need was met with an enthusiastic response. The tongue working against her clit suddenly felt broader, the strokes firmer and rhythmic. As her hips bucked forward to receive another thrust, she felt a second finger enter her cunt alongside the first. The pair of fingers penetrated deep, buried to the palm, and a sharp moan was drawn from her lips. Miranda's own trembling fingers sought out the head buried between her legs. She traced the familiar ridges before applying a gentle pressure. Not guiding, just holding. She revelled as each movement took her even closer.

"Nea…please!"

Her orgasm built, a smouldering fire at first, before culminating in an all-consuming blaze. Miranda writhed beneath the asari's touch. Too far gone to care about the brazen sounds that emanated from her lips, caring only about the pleasure that encompassed her present.

Contentment lingered even when the orgasm faded to nothing more than a satisfied, damp ache between her legs. Nea Skouros lingered there, close enough that Miranda could feel the warmth of each breath as the asari recovered from her exertion. She felt momentarily bereft when the warmth disappeared, and empty when Nea slowly withdrew her fingers. Neither sensation lasted long. Seconds Miranda felt the exquisite texture of Nea's skin against her own. She wrapped her arms around Nea's supple back, drawing the asari close enough to kiss. Miranda felt a palpable thrill when she tasted herself on Nea's lips and tongue, hungrily intensifying the kiss until that taste was only a memory.

"Satisfied, Dr Lawson?" Nea purred against Miranda's throat.

"Very." Miranda murmured her assent. Slowly she managed to orientate herself. Nea manoeuvred her weight to one side, nestling against Miranda, continuing to hold her as she rolled over. Miranda reached up to cup the asari's chin with her palm. "For now at least."

They grinned together in the darkness. Miranda more so because she still remembered a time when she would never have allowed herself to feel so vulnerable in the bedroom. To admit that she wanted someone was tantamount to weakness.

The sex had been every bit as mindless as promised. And it was good. So good that Miranda could no longer think of Nea as simply a one night stand.

In the past Miranda had always strived to maintain control whilst fucking. It wasn't always strictly possible - in the heat of climax there was no such thing as control – but her rules ensured that she didn't make a fool of herself. Rule number one had always been to keep it impersonal – this certainly didn't include crying out a partner's name in the midst of climax.

Still, the relationship - or whatever it was - had to end eventually. It unnerved Miranda that, for once in her life, she didn't have an exit strategy. Nea was due to return to Thessia in a few days with the rest of the asari delegation. It was a natural end point for their liaison, ruined by the fact that Miranda was reluctant to dwell on it.

Miranda jumped slightly when her alarm dared to interrupt the silence. There was an incoherent, sleepy protest from Nea. One quirk she had learned about the asari was that she did not appreciate rising before dawn, preferring to linger in the warmth of bed for as long as possible.

Leaving Nea naked in her bed, Miranda reluctantly left the warmth to head for the shower. Enjoying sex was one thing, ignoring her responsibilities was still an entirely foreign concept. She still had a company to run and a deal to close - despite the fact that she was fucking one of her business partners. Miranda banished that particular thought from her mind, using the act of showering to try and restore some semblance of normality to her routine.

As the water sloshed over her skin, Miranda had to admit to herself that she was a little bit happy.

Emerging from the shower, she began to dress in semi-darkness. Instinctively Miranda knew that Nea was watching her, but she enjoyed the thought of hungry eyes roaming over her body.

"Dine with me tonight." It was not so much a request, as a statement.

Surprised, Miranda paused with her bra clutched in one hand. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. "I thought this was just about mindless fucking?"

"Does dinner imply more?" Nea asked playfully, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Perhaps."

Miranda couldn't deny that she wanted it. Dinner didn't have to mean anything other than two individuals enjoying one another's company - and she enjoyed Nea Skouros' company immensely.

"Does that scare you?"

The prospect didn't scare Nea, of that Miranda was certain. The asari hadn't made any attempt to conceal what appeared to be an honest affection.

"Not as much as it should."

"Yet you're reluctant?" There were notes of hesitation and disappointment in Nea's voice.

"Not reluctant, just busy," Miranda replied with genuine regret.

"The contract will be signed today. You deserve to take the night off...and I leave tomorrow."

Miranda bit her lip. "It is a family engagement."

Nea frowned. "I wasn't aware you had family on Nevos," the asari asked gently.

The first twinge of anger began to stir. Miranda was unused to having her statements questioned in such a fashion. While Nea was merely being inquisitive, she felt as though she was under attack.

"Why should you be?" Miranda couldn't keep the tone from her voice. She had very little experience with compromise, none whilst in a relationship. "This-" Miranda said as she pointed towards her bed "-is the extent of our liaison. What I do outside of it, is my own affair."

Regret entered her mind as soon as the words left her lips, but attempting to mitigate the situation was out of the question. With her skin still tingling from her shower, Miranda's perfect morning had quickly descended into disaster.

"I see," Nea said as she peeled the sheets away from her body and rose to her feet. "Then I suppose I have an answer to my question."

Miranda turned her back, unwilling to risk the distraction.

When Miranda received no response to her knock and entered to find a room swathed in darkness, she knew what to expect.

Jack was obviously having what the staff at the centre euphemistically called 'a bad day.' Miranda paused in the doorway, letting the light from the corridor flood the room as her eyes adjusted. Jack's bed was empty, as was the recliner in front of the window. A harsh, incessant whisper was all that broke the silence – too soft for Miranda to make out anything other than the angry tone – but she already knew where she would find Jack. Miranda dropped into a crouch, scanning across the room to spot a small shape in the far corner of the room.

A 'bad day' meant that Jack had regressed into her child self – hiding beneath her desk to protect herself, a vain effort to make sense of what was happening to her. Miranda felt a pang of despair as she caught a glimpse of Jack's eyes flashing in the dim light. They resembled those of a feral animal. Whereas once such days had been an anomaly, they were now happening with increased frequency.

"Jack?" Miranda called out in a soft voice.

"I won't do it," Jack's answer clearly wasn't intended for Miranda. Her mind was somewhere else, somewhere in the past. "I won't hurt them. You can't make me."

"Jack, no one's going to make you hurt anyone. You're safe here," Miranda replied patiently. She rose to her feet and carefully walked around the bed, wincing each time her heels struck the floor. Such an authoritarian rhythm had no place here. Knowing better than to approach too quickly, Miranda kept her distance. All the while Jack's eyes - piercing and wary - didn't leave her. "You know me, Jack."

"Soft talk and red lips," Jack hissed in a harsh voice. "Pretty...but no different than all the rest. Piss off, your tricks won't work here."

"It's Tuesday, Jack," Miranda said as she lowered herself to the ground. It was a motion that wasn't quite as effortless as it once was. She folded her legs beneath her and laid both palms open towards Jack in a non-threatening manner. "Unfortunately you're stuck with me for the next..." Miranda checked her chrono. She usually left Jack at 7.00pm, but Miranda caught herself before she went further. Instead she asked herself what compelled her to leave. Of course she often returned to work, but there was nothing pressing requiring her attention. Nor was there a talented asari waiting in her bed. There was no reason for her to leave. "I'm not going anywhere."

Her announcement wasn't met with any sort of enthusiasm. Or even much of a response. The pair settled into something akin to a stalemate. Stubbornly ignoring her own discomfort, Miranda remained in her awkward sitting position while Jack continued to watch her like a hawk.

Several minutes later, the scene resumed playing out as though Miranda was not even present. Jack's whispers commenced anew. Urgent, scathing whispers - mostly nonsensical and out of context, but Jack's pain was all too evident. Despite the passage of time, it was clear that it was still just as raw as it had been for child Jack decades earlier. Miranda should have felt like an intruder to Jack's private memories, but she'd heard it all before. The hardest thing was ignoring the parallels with her own past.

So similar...and yet light years apart. Miranda's own trauma was so deeply buried in her subconscious that she had difficulty remembering anything other than a searing sense of hatred. In the aftermath of killing her own father, she'd felt nothing - not even the barest sense of retribution for what he'd done to her and Oriana. Just detachment. And that's how it remained almost 25 years later.

An acquaintance could be forgiven for believing that Miranda was incapable of emotion. However as she sat on the hard floor, listening to Jack plead with invisible captors, she had difficulty reining them in. Tears pricked at her eyes. For as long as she could remember, Miranda had deliberately chosen to remain detached from the swirling eddies of human interaction. It had been almost effortless, at least until Shepard and the rest of the Normandy 'family' had bludgeoned their way into her life. Still, somehow she'd maintained her distance from everyone save for Oriana and Jack. She'd always felt very little regret over this fact, but she'd also convinced herself that Jack would always be around. The one person who understood how fucked up she was - in a way that Oriana never could...or should.

The stinging pain welled into actual tears. With a disgusted snort Miranda dashed her hand across her eyes.

"Tried that," Jack suddenly muttered.

Miranda looked up, lips parted hopefully at the coherence in Jack's voice. Jack was a literal vision of death - but her red-rimmed gaze was piercing and direct.

"Tears don't do shit...except make you feel like a fucking pussy."

Jack's voice was scathing - not mocking Miranda's loss of composure, but bitter that she herself had ever given in to tears. Miranda smiled sympathetically in response, relieved that the worst of Jack's lapse had passed.

"You've never been a pussy, Jack." Miranda spoke quickly, moving past Jack's obvious embarrassment at having returned to lucidity to find herself tucked beneath the desk. She shifted slightly, wincing honestly as her knees protested. "I need to get off the floor before my knees seize up altogether."

"Help me back into bed then, old woman." Jack's smirk said that she enjoyed the admission of weakness.

Mostly skin and bone, Jack weighed next to nothing, but Miranda flared anyway. Her corona enveloped them both as she eased Jack's broken body out from beneath the desk and into her arms.

For a brief time, Jack was once again surrounded by dark energy. Miranda knew it was a cruel gift. Jack's biotics had been suppressed years earlier. To embrace them again would be fatal - glorious, but fatal. However, faced with the expression of hunger on Jack's face, Miranda wondered whether a brief, bright exit would be preferable than the slow, wasting death that stripped the biotic of her essence and left little other than a hollowed out shell.

It was Jack's question to answer, but Miranda already knew the answer. She hated her selfishness, but she wasn't prepared to let Jack go. A part of her also hoped that Jack chose to live. The younger woman was certainly stubborn enough.

With Jack restored to her bed, Miranda reluctantly let her field dissipate. These days she had little cause to use her biotics. A far cry from her days as an Operative, or a hunted fugitive - but she supposed she appreciated the fact that no one was trying to kill her. For the time being, she remained standing.

"You can fuck off if you want, Cheerleader. Must have better things to do with your evening than talk to crazies."

"Firstly, you're not crazy, Jack," Miranda replied emphatically. "And secondly there's no where I'd rather be, no company I'd rather be enjoying."

Jack cackled. "C'mon, you could be anywhere in the Galaxy in this moment and instead you're stuck in a dark room talking to me. Hell, if I were you there would be a million other places to be." Jack looked pensive for a few moments. "Mostly I'd be out getting laid."

"Tried that." Miranda surprised herself with her honesty, but she bit her lip. She didn't visit Jack to air her petty problems. Not that she could even label what happened with Nea a problem.

"You're not just going to leave it at that!" Apparently Jack felt differently. "Spill, Cheerleader. I know you. Some shit's gone down."

"Jack-"

"C'mon!" Jack lifted her arms as high as she was able in an encompassing gesture. "This is my whole fucking world and I have to live vicariously through you - just my damn luck that you also happen to be one of the most boring people in the galaxy. All you do is talk about me - ways I can be more comfortable, new treatments, what I ate for fucking dinner - news flash, I don't give a shit!" Jack had to pause to catch her breath following her outburst. When she resumed, her breathing was slightly laboured and her voice barely above a whisper. "In case you hadn't realised by now, I don't hate you...haven't for a long time. I guess this kinda of means I care about you."

Miranda was still standing and Jack's admission made it difficult to think of doing anything else. All she could do was offer up an inadequate smile. Jack eventually made a weak attempt at patting the bed beside her. Miranda accepted the invitation, perching awkwardly for a few moments before deciding to get comfortable alongside Jack. She closed her eyes, offering up a small sigh.

"I guess I'm not cut out for relationships."

"I remember you being pretty shit in the sack," Jack shrugged. "That might be part of your problem."

Miranda smiled. "Sleeping with you was almost enough to turn me off sex for the rest of my life."

Silence descended. Time was passing. Miranda's original intention of returning to work now seemed unimportant. By choice she did not allow simple moments to sit and think in silence. Too much silence led to unhelpful thinking. She opened her eyes and turned to look at Jack. The other woman looked dead tired, but surprisingly alert. When thinking about the passage of time, Miranda finally realised how much time she had wasted concentrating on unimportant things - work mostly. All the while missing out on these moments with people she cared about.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened or what?" Jack queried impatiently - clearly she didn't appreciate or need the silence as much as Miranda did. "And don't spare any of the details. How was the sex?"

"Jack!"

Jack's grin lit up her tired face. "Bet you wish I was still under that fucking desk huh?"

A/N: Tardy yet again! I'm sorry that this chapter was little more than a Miranda-centric character study, but I'm working my way back into the groove. Now turning my attention to AoF!