"It looks as though our new arrivals are settling in well," Kelly reported cheerfully, perched in the chair on the other side of Miranda's desk.

Kelly was always cheerful. Some mornings, like this one, Miranda required more than the usual quantity of coffee to prepare herself for her daily briefing with the yeoman. It didn't help that she'd been up late installing new encryption protocols. Kasumi Goto was getting perilously close to cracking the previous codes. Miranda had faith in Cerberus' encryption. She did. Then again, it might not have been subject to the concentrated attention of a hacker of Goto's caliber before. The thief was bored, she suspected, and had taken Shepard's hint to her about Miranda's transmissions to the Illusive Man as a mandate. Of course she had. It might not even matter much; there was, frankly, little on Miranda's end of the transmissions that she wouldn't say to Shepard's face, if asked. And what she was getting from the HQ end of the transmissions was usually unrevealing in the extreme. Perhaps she should just turn them over to Goto and let her see if she could get some subtly stated objective out of them. To date, the Illusive Man was content to let Shepard carry on being Shepard, ignoring Miranda's period requests for greater authority or to re-install surveillance or to be able to override EDI's judgment on what constituted "privacy." She'd heard Shepard's and Vakarian's conversation in the cargo bay, though, or at least, enough of it. (The audio pick-ups weren't ideally positioned.) So she knew where Goto's latest security-cracking project had come from. She didn't even mind that Vakarian (and now Goto, too) had broken into the Lazarus Project medical files. Let them. If they needed to reassure themselves that Shepard was Shepard, so be it. Dr. Chakwas had all the most relevant files already, in any case. There was some potential risk, if the procedures developed for Lazarus became more widely available, but Miranda wasn't entirely sure the techniques they had used would work in anything other than extraordinary cases. The quick and prolonged exposure of Shepard's body to deep cold was probably what had made her neurological resurrection possible.

"Miranda?"

She blinked and took another swallow of her coffee before directing a smile at Kelly. "Apologies. Settling in well, you say?"

"Yes. Samara requires little, she says. She seems to spend most of her free time in meditation, and doesn't have a problem with the normal human rations."

"Good." Miranda was aware of Samara's meditations. The camera in starboard observation had not been disabled. She was rather envious of how long the asari could concentrate, especially maintaining that orb of dark energy. It was extraordinarily impressive—but then, the asari had likely learned the trick of it when humans were still using steam power.

"And Thane—" Kelly sighed, eyelashes fluttering. "Oh, it's so sad about his condition. He sent a request for some supplies he uses as remedies. Dr. Chakwas has examined him, I think."

"He should be fit for combat," said Miranda, in possession of the doctor's report on the drell. "We'll acquire whatever supplies are necessary, of course."

"He's so intriguing," Kelly murmured. "Don't you think it's sad? About the Kepral's? He can't be that old!"

"It's a common condition for drell," Miranda said, her smile growing thinner. "You can't expect to uproot a species from an arid planet to an aquatic one without some difficulties in adjustment."

"Still." Kelly sighed again.

"And the rest of the specialists?" Miranda asked pointedly, to catch her attention.

"Right." Kelly blinked and refocused on her data pad. "Kasumi's keeping herself busy and seems in good spirits."

In good spirits cracking Miranda's files, she thought darkly.

"Zaeed's actually been getting out of the lower decks and playing cards with some of the crew."

Miranda snorted. "As if he didn't have enough of Cerberus' credits."

Kelly chuckled. "I certainly wouldn't play Skyllian Five with him, but it's Donnelly's funeral if he wants to."

Miranda laughed and took another sip of coffee.

"I thought there might be a bit of tension between him and Garrus, but they seem to be managing all right."

"Tension over what?" Miranda asked, coming to alert. She could think of any number of causes, but she'd like to know the specifics.

Kelly gave her an unusually direct look. "I don't think Garrus likes mercenaries much."

"Mm." Miranda frowned. "I can have a word with Massani."

"I don't think it's necessary. Zaeed had a couple of conversations that were... typical male posturing sorts of things. Garrus didn't really rise to the bait. They seem to have settled into a civil working relationship. I don't know if they spoke privately."

"Well." Miranda opened her hand. "No need to intervene, then."

"No. Grunt is—" Kelly took a deep breath. "—not as much of a difficulty as I'd feared. It took some... acclimatizing, but he listens to Shepard and he's really rather eager to learn." She smiled. "It's almost charming. He's like a child."

Miranda's eyebrows went up. "A child who's nearly seven feet tall and weighs half a ton."

"I know. It's not the size, it's the demeanor. It's fascinating to see him explore the world. His tank imprinting seems to have been very... limited."

Miranda gave Kelly her best skeptical look, but the yeoman—and psychologist, she reminded herself—returned it without blinking. "So, in your judgment, he doesn't currently pose a danger to the crew. Noncombat crew included."

"That's correct. Now Jack—" Kelly frowned. "Jack is volatile, and seems especially agitated the last few days. Shepard went down to have a talk with her."

"And?" Where Vakarian and Mordin had disabled the electronic surveillance in the battery and the lab, Jack had simply blown up the camera monitoring the crawl space. The dark spots around the ship irritated Miranda, but placing a new camera would be tantamount to declaring war with Jack, and that she was not yet willing to do.

Kelly pursed her lips. "I'm not sure of the outcome. Jack... bears watching, but she keeps to herself and doesn't pick fights with the crew. She fights with the other ground team members, or spars, rather. I think Shepard's on top of the situation."

"Let's hope so." Miranda made a note to raise the topic with Shepard herself at her next opportunity. "What about Vakarian?"

"He's been through a lot. I think he's in need of grief counseling."

Miranda tried to imagine anyone sitting the turian down for a therapeutic chat. The concept alone was a strain. Kelly went on, "He seems to have adjusted to the crew, however. Reserved—he talks to Shepard more than anyone else—but he seems stable enough, psychologically speaking."

"Good, then."

"Actually, the other person who seems upset right now is Jacob. He seems much tenser than usual." Kelly's gaze was suddenly more direct than Miranda was ready for. "Do you have any idea why?"

Miranda dropped her eyes and took a long, slow swallow. Her coffee cup was almost empty. She reminded herself that Kelly had been personally chosen by the Illusive Man, and reported to him directly; it did not entirely do to underestimate her, in spite of her bubbly persona. She looked up again to meet Kelly's eyes, direct and guileless. "No. Perhaps Shepard should have a talk with him, too."

"I've already suggested it to her."

"I'm sure she'll sort it out, then."

They closed with the last few odds and ends of business, and Kelly left. Miranda turned back to her console.

She'd done it for him, after all. He was the one who'd used to talk about wanting closure, those rare occasions their dislike of their respective fathers had come up, during quiet moments of conversation. Miranda wasn't sure she believed in closure. But it had seemed important to Jacob, when he spoke, haltingly, about the long-missing Ronald Taylor. She knew that loose end had nagged at him, years ago. He was the one who had brought it up more recently, too, just after the Horizon debriefing.

"Makes you think, being on a mission like this," Jacob had said. The two of them had been alone in the mess hall, fueling their respective biotics with a late snack before turning in. Their habits still fell in sync, occasionally. Likely it was the effect of working together so long.

"Oh?" Miranda had said, flatly. He had a habit of doing that, throwing out tidbits of conversation as if fishing for responses. If she gave him a bit of encouragement, he'd carry on; if she didn't, he'd keep giving her sighs and looks until she finally relented. It was tiresome of him.

He'd shrugged broad shoulders. "Yeah. You know. Suicide mission, a lot on the line... people are gonna want to make sure their affairs are in order. Tie up all the loose ends."

Miranda's lip curled. She didn't like him calling it a suicide mission. There was no need to presuppose the end. "Perhaps you're right," she said neutrally.

"You know I am," he said with a flash of dark eyes.

"And what are your loose ends, Jacob?" she asked, wary. They'd ended things some time ago. By mutual agreement, she thought, calm and polite, like adults. He'd been scrupulously civil and professional since. They'd managed to maintain a good working relationship, and Jacob never presumed too far upon their former intimacy. It was rather more sensitive of him than she'd given him credit for, once upon a time. She was glad enough to acknowledge her error. Silently, since they never spoke of it. Of course, if he were about to confess some deep-seated and untimely passion for her, she would have to reevaluate.

He shrugged again, though. "I don't have too many regrets. Just... questions I never had answered, you know?"

"Good," she had said, brisk. But she hadn't forgotten. It was only the work of a few minutes, when she had trouble sleeping, to comb through Cerberus comm channels in search of that missing vessel. Serendipitous that it had actually come up, but not hard to find at all, not hard to slide it anonymously into Jacob's message chain. He'd want to know, wouldn't he? Get that closure he'd talked about. Fulfilling the last of her old debts and promises to him, perhaps, clearing her own slate.

She stared at her list of messages without seeing them, for a moment, pondering the elusive concept of closure. Would it do her any good to see her father again? To tell him to his face what she thought of him? Of his plans for her and Oriana, of what he'd done with the rejected sisters, the ones who hadn't measured up to Miranda's standard? To stand in front of him and show him what she'd made of herself?

No. She was performing exactly as expected, wasn't she? Advancing the cause of humanity, after all. She'd been designed and cultivated and shaped for this, her genes less random than a purebred racing horse. It wasn't her spirit and personality that mattered, no matter what Shepard said: Miranda had been built to have superior intelligence, less need for sleep, greater physical resilience, more strength than her slender frame suggested. Biotics, of course you couldn't have a perfect human in this day and age without biotics; that was clearly the next great step in human evolution. And the looks. Oh yes, the looks, flawless skin, height and figure designed to Henry Lawson's exacting standards, calculated to fit the ratio most appealing to most humans, or at least most heterosexual human men, and recessive blue eyes, why not, and especially striking with her dark hair.

Miranda shook herself and pushed away from her desk, setting her teeth together and pacing in the confines of her office. She'd never had a skin blemish in her life, a mark of artificiality if there ever was one, and she'd been trained on how to maximize her appeal by the time she was sixteen. What more would her father have had her do, if she'd grown any older in his care? Nearly twenty years and she still hated him for it, for every minute of her petted, stultifying, cultivated, hothouse upbringing. And yet she had to be grateful, all the same, that he'd made her what she was, for the opportunities and accomplishments that she could never have had if she weren't Henry Lawson's finest creation.

But watch him do the same to Oriana? No. That, she wouldn't do. That, she'd done for herself, and for her sister. She could take a certain satisfaction in that, surely, how she'd surprised her father, outwitted him and his guards, and gotten herself and her sister away to somewhere safe.

She cursed her father, thoroughly and eloquently, and threw in a curse for Jacob, too, since it was his damned need for closure that had brought her thoughts back to the man. She hoped whatever he got out of the message she'd sent him was worth it.

She cursed her father again when she got the message from the contacts she set as watchdogs on his activities. His agents were getting closer to identifying Oriana's location. His people had been sniffing around before, but she'd been able to misdirect them, keeping Oriana's freedom from their father safe. This time, when she was occupied with this mission, she'd have to take other measures. Relocating the family would be the safest option. They had been on Illium for some time; it would be plausible for a transfer or other job opportunity to open up. It was one more problem to deal with, but not insoluble one; Miranda sent a barrage of messages out to her contacts to see what could be set up, and tried not to fret as she returned her attention to her work.

#

Miranda started when Shepard came blazing into her office a few days later. She hadn't even cleaned up since the mission; she was still in full armor, hair damp and matted, and the armor was dripping, and there were stains across Shepard's legs and chest which, by the trajectory and shade, were likely varren blood.

"What did you know about Jack's background?" Shepard demanded, arms crossed over her chest.

Miranda slowly pushed her chair back and looked up. She'd seen Shepard resolute, in combat fury, even on the verge of coming to pieces after Vakarian's injury. She'd never directed anger like this at Miranda before. "She was raised and trained in a Cerberus facility before she broke out," she said carefully and distinctly. "There were procedures intended to develop and hone her biotic potential. She's said as much."

"Procedures," Shepard spat. Miranda blinked. "They were children, Miranda. They took young kids and shipped them in in crates, packed them in tiny cells, and experimented on them. They made them fight as if they were varren, conditioned them to like it, let them kill each other. Kids. Young kids. Jack was just the beneficiary of whatever experiments they did on the others, first. How do you justify any of that?"

"It wasn't Cerberus," Miranda said, trying to keep a grip on her patience. Shepard would insist on viewing rogue cells as the real thing.

Shepard took one step forward and planted a gauntleted fist on Miranda's desk. Her eyes blazed. "What makes you so sure of that?"

Miranda rose, aware of the peculiar crackling sensation of Shepard's biotics. Neither of them was flaring, but Shepard was a good deal closer than she usually allowed herself to go. "I inquired when Jack came aboard, and when you told me about her... request. The Teltin facility went rogue. The Illusive Man did not have full knowledge of the experiments conducted there."

Shepard straightened, re-crossing her arms. "Did he tell you that himself?"

Miranda's lips thinned. "He did. Did you find contradictory evidence?"

There was a beat's pause before Shepard answered. "No. But. Logs on-site indicated that they were being pressured to come up with results. If the Illusive Man didn't know—which I personally wouldn't take his word for—he still set up the conditions that pushed their more extreme behavior."

Miranda wrinkled her nose. "He's not responsible for the misdeeds of some underlings, Commander."

"Isn't he?" She leaned forward, her jaw thrust forward. "They were trying to create the ultimate human biotic, but how many biotic kids did they abuse and lose doing that?"

"You're taking this very hard," Miranda observed, with some caution.

Shepard snorted. "Yeah, I am. You weren't there. You didn't see." She shook her head. "It was sick, all of it. And it could have been me. Or you. Or Jacob." All three of them were too old for the Teltin project, but Miranda thought it best to hold her tongue as Shepard went on. "Or kids just like us."

"It's obvious mistakes were made," Miranda said. "I'm not doubting that. But it wasn't—"

"—Cerberus," Shepard finished. "Yeah. I get that you want to think that."

Exasperated, Miranda knit her brows together. She and Shepard stared at each other across the desk. Then Shepard ran her hands through her hair, disarranging its usual tidy arrangement. "I have to go clean up. We'll debrief later."

When Miranda reviewed the mission reports, she could understand why Shepard was upset. The evidence they'd found in the facility was damning testimony, even if Jack's recollections might have been more melodramatic than strictly true. Alone in her office, Miranda frowned at the screen. The Teltin researchers had unquestionably been abusive, stupid, and inefficient. There was nothing to indicate the Illusive Man had been aware of their foolish experimentation and conditioning program, however. With Shepard's help, Jack had eliminated the rest of the evidence with her bomb.

She had never run any of her own projects so poorly. She could be hard on her people, and she knew it; she didn't tend to make friends of her subordinates, with only a few exceptions. But she'd never driven her people like that. She'd use threats where necessary, and she wasn't afraid to follow through, but she much preferred finding talented people and then giving them incentives to do what they did best. Intriguing projects, competitive pay, workspaces designed for their tastes. Her jaw tightened. She still hadn't forgiven Wilson for taking out the entire Lazarus team; what a waste of intelligent and valuable personnel.

Still, the fallout from Jack's little raid on Teltin was not particularly significant. Jack must have been under orders to avoid Miranda; she snarled or made snide comments if they encountered each other in the mess hall, and pointedly ignored Miranda during full-team briefings, but she had made no further move. Vakarian hadn't raised the subject with Miranda; she doubted he would do so, especially if he knew that Shepard had already discussed it with her. He appeared on edge, though. It might not be related; Kelly reported that he'd gotten a message that had left him out of sorts lately. Shepard hadn't seen fit to inform Miranda whether there was a problem. She'd looked at Vakarian's message herself, of course, but it was well encrypted, looking like it relied on some sort of personal key. She had to respect that level of paranoia, and she hadn't cared quite enough to take the time to hack it. Shepard had set their course for the Citadel, making vague statements about necessary business as well as a run for parts, weapons, and supplies; Miranda had her suspicions, but she supposed as long as personal errands didn't distract from their central mission, they were acceptable. If they did distract, she'd have to raise the situation with Shepard, and possibly the Illusive Man.

#

Miranda had stepped out of her office for another cup of coffee when Vakarian blew through the mess hall like a cold wind. Her civil greeting died on her lips as he strode by, ignoring her and the two crewmen chatting at a nearby table entirely, and all but stormed down the corridor to the main battery. The lock turned red behind him.

Puzzled, Miranda stared at the door, and turned to find the two crew members—Goldstein and Patel—also staring with wide eyes. Goldstein saw her noticing and hastily turned back to her companion, shoulders hunching.

Miranda took a sip of her coffee and retrieved a protein bar from the supply. She hesitated for a moment, searching her mind for some explanation. Vakarian and Shepard had left the Normandy earlier that day, but Shepard hadn't indicated what errand they might be doing.

While she considered, Shepard herself appeared, wheeling around the corner at speed. Miranda, facing her, could see the exact moment she registered the locked door at the end of the corridor. She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widened, and her shoulders tensed. She was still in her combat armor. Miranda glanced her over quickly, but there was no visible damage. Goldstein, facing Shepard, stared, leaning forward to whisper to Patel. Miranda shot her a glare, and the woman flinched.

She turned back to Shepard, and stepped in close just as Shepard started to turn away. "Shepard," she said in a low voice, not meant for the ears of the crew, "what happened?"

A series of expressions flickered quickly over Shepard's face. It finished by settling, nearly, into a professional mask. Her jaw tightened, her shoulders settled, her eyebrows drew down slightly. Her eyes remained troubled. "I... it's a personal matter, Miranda."

Miranda frowned. Shepard didn't react, holding her gaze steadily. But she also didn't resist when Miranda curled one hand around her arm and drew her toward her office, away from the listening ears. "Personal?" she asked once the door closed behind them. "Personal like Jack blowing up a former Cerberus facility? Do I need to activate Cerberus assets to cover whatever happened? Pragia was one thing, but we need to take more precautions in settled areas, Shepard."

Shepard winced. She pulled her arm free and crossed her arms, drawing herself upright. "No. It's... all right, there was some fire exchanged at one of the ward warehouses. We notified C-Sec."

"C-Sec?" Miranda exclaimed. "What were you thinking, Shepard? We need to manage that sort of matter ourselves."

Shepard shook her head. "No. It's handled. The warehouse was a base for smuggling and forgery. We did C-Sec a favor."

"All right." Miranda frowned at Shepard. She'd still prefer dealing with C-Sec on her own terms. "I should think taking down a smuggler would make you happy, Shepard, not looking like you lost your best friend."

She meant it as a joke, but Shepard flinched like she'd been struck, and her face drained of color. Miranda almost reached toward her in support, but Shepard's shoulders tightened and she crossed her arms.

"What happened?" Miranda asked again.

Shepard's lips tightened, and Miranda wasn't sure she was going to speak at all. She waited, nearly holding her breath, and finally Shepard shifted her weight from one foot to the other and said, "Garrus and I had a... personal disagreement. It's between him and me. It's not... material to the larger mission."

Miranda tried to take in the idea that Shepard and Vakarian could have a disagreement on anything more severe than the merits of their favorite weapons, much less one that would send the turian stalking off to his lair alone and leave Shepard looking like this. No matter how flinty she was attempting to appear, there was a bleakness in her eyes, a softness, that Miranda wasn't used to seeing there. She didn't much like it. "Really," she said tartly. "Not material to the larger mission? You're sure whatever this is isn't going to interfere with the team's effectiveness and cohesion? If you and Vakarian can't work together—"

Shepard's cheeks colored. "It's not like that. We're professionals, Miranda. We'll work it out."

Miranda frowned. "If you're certain."

"I—" Shepard lifted one hand to rub the back of her neck. "Yeah."

She didn't sound certain. She looked almost lost, and unutterably weary. The cybernetic scars on her cheeks had mostly healed, but that threw into relief how worn she seemed. Her whole demeanor was unsettling, frankly; Shepard usually made a point of seeming optimistic, even indomitable, around the crew. Miranda thought she was better at seeing through it than most of the team, but that just made her more concerned. Almost without thinking, she said, "Shepard, if you need to talk about anything—"

Shepard's mouth pulled to the side, not quite a smile, and she shook her head. "What, I can come cry on your shoulder? I'm a grown-up. I'll deal. And I'll let you get back to work." She stepped back with a firm nod, close enough to trigger the door.

It was a marvelously executed retreat, Miranda had to concede that point as the door closed behind Shepard. She frowned at the blank surface, discomfited. She still wanted answers, but she did not want the gossips on the crew to see her chasing Shepard through the crew deck. "EDI."

"Yes, Operative Lawson?"

"What can you tell me about Shepard and Vakarian's activities on the Citadel?" She strolled toward her desk, setting down the coffee and ripping open the protein bar.

There was a pause. "Shepard did say it was a private matter. I am not certain she would wish me to reveal their actions."

Miranda set her teeth. "They were in public places, under standard Citadel surveillance. I am concerned with the commander's well-being and the effectiveness of the combat squad, on which I will need to report to the Illusive Man."

After another brief pause, the AI answered, "Shepard made inquiries at C-Sec regarding a forger known as Fade. They visited a warehouse on Zakera Ward and then took a transit car to the Ward's factory district. Surveillance devices recorded gunfire. They then took another transit car to Orbital Lounge. Shepard spoke there with an unknown turian for several minutes."

Miranda raised her eyebrows as the account stopped there. "And?"

"That is all, Operative Lawson. The turian departed, and Shepard met Vakarian back at their skycar."

Miranda's eyes narrowed as that sunk in. "Where was he while she was talking to the other turian?"

Another pause. "On a nearby balcony."

"On a..." Miranda stopped short, the scene suddenly taking shape in her imagination. "He was going to kill someone on the Citadel?"

"That appears to have been the intention."

"And she stopped him?" Miranda shook her head, not sure whether she was more irritated by Vakarian's scheme or Shepard's subversion of it. "Do you know what the connection was?"

EDI said, "Fragments of recorded conversation indicate that the turian was part of Archangel's team on Omega."

She frowned, trying to piece together the chain of events. The turian must have bolted, or... no, the mercs back on Omega had spoken of turning one of Archangel's men. Her eyebrows went up. "Shepard kept Vakarian from killing his traitor?"

"That is the logical conclusion." EDI sounded unusually tentative.

"What was she thinking?" Miranda muttered with a sigh, and took a bite of the bar.

"Are you inviting my speculation, Operative Lawson?"

"No," she said, swallowing quickly. How like Shepard to create an undesirable rift in the team out of some damned principle. Better to have shot the traitor and moved on, although better to have done it in stealth, not right in the middle of a civilian area on the Citadel. 'Bring her back just as she was,' indeed. The Illusive Man should have been careful what he wished for.

Sitting down, Miranda reached for her coffee. She had to admit to a grudging respect for Shepard's integrity, at least. After watching how closely Shepard worked with Vakarian over the last weeks, she never would have suspected that Shepard would deliberately risk that relationship. She hoped that the personal cost for the commander wasn't too high, and that it didn't have undesirable ramifications for the mission.