When Jack woke again it was to the sight of Miranda's dark head bowed over her work tablet. Jack stayed still, just watching her for a moment while she read, typing small corrections or sending instructions with deft fingers from time to time. Gone was the customary white catsuit that had so prominently displayed the Cerberus logo. She had adopted a more metropolitan wardrobe now, though it was obvious she still preferred the cut of it to accentuate her curves. Jack could think of worse views, she supposed, though the mouth it came with sorta spoiled the package.
She wondered what time it was. With no windows the hours tended to blend and the walls seemed to squeeze in, making her heart pound and her blood scream for opioids. All that work she had put in to get straight at the academy was gone and her old enemy had pounced on her with claws made of bliss. While she hadn't had a choice in the matter the timing wasn't terrible. Escaping her thoughts had been welcome. It would be welcome again right now.
Miranda lifted her head to gaze at her, and the kindness in her eyes sent a spike of resentment through her guts. She couldn't help it. That look felt like pity and it made her lips curl into a snarl. "Could you have the decency not to smile? You look like a clown." The left side of her scalp itched and she instinctively tried to scratch it with her missing arm, putting her in even more of a foul mood.
Miranda seemed nonplussed, putting her pad down to give Jack her full attention. It was fucking creepy. "Morning Jack," she said calmly, "How'd you sleep?"
"Like shit." She reached over her own head with her right hand to try and get at the itch. "I'm sore all over. I hate this fucking bed."
"I'm not surprised," Miranda replied with equanimity, "What do you think, you want to get out of here?"
Jack's eyes widened and she arched an eyebrow, "Holy shit. Serious? That was fast."
"Can't leave just yet but I've put in the requests." She got up and walked to the foot of the bed, lifting and settling a bag down by Jack's foot. "Today's the ceremony downtown. I figured you might want to get some fresh air."
Jack's keen desire to be anywhere but here immediately warred with an intense desire not to be seen as she was. Damaged. Weak. Crashing on top came memories of the assault, her student's deaths and the maiming she had kept carefully hidden in a dusty corner of her mind. She found her breath coming too fast and sweat broke out on her skin as adrenaline filled her veins.
It didn't escape Miranda's notice. "Or," she said, moving back to her chair, "We can do something else entirely."
"Go away Lawson," she growled in warning.
"Jack, I unders.."
Jack's good arm became sheathed in crackling blue energy and the side table lifted into the air to be thrown at her in fury. "I said leave!"
Such a reaction usually sent everyone in the room scrambling for the door so she was surprised when Miranda simply stood there, her own hand raised and glowing. The table froze in mid air and the silverware and plate hung suspended nearby. There was a coldness in the woman's eyes she hadn't seen since the Normandy, a revelation of the iron will the woman had exercised with abandon against the Reapers, Cerberus, and even her own father.
Her voice contained that same frost, devoid of emotion. "That's not going to happen here, Jack. If you need an outlet, we can work something out but you are going to put that table down. Now."
Jack's jaw was clenched so hard that she could feel her teeth grind. She pressed against Miranda's field, the caged animal of her rage needing to flex. It felt good, that anger. Better than drugs. Better than sex. It was who she was. She felt Miranda's strength start to give, and her soul sang.
"I know what you're doing, Jack," Miranda said through her own clenched teeth, "I know what you are doing, and I'm telling you that it's alright. We can work through this." Their biotic fields ran like water against one another, looking for any weakness in which to run.
Jack heard the words but didn't want to listen. She just wanted to hurt her, hurt her as much as she hurt. There was no end to it, and it made her hate herself. Nobody could possibly understand, least of all Miranda, so why did she look so god damned sincere? "Why the fuck are you even here, Cheerleader?" she snarled as she pushed.
Their chests were heaving with the effort they were expending, Jack's weakened condition making the contest a tad more even than it might have been. The objects moved inexorably toward Miranda, though, and Jack could see the realization in her eyes.
"I'm here…..I'm here to help you!" Miranda exclaimed as her field began to waver. She brought up her other hand in a vain effort to stop the inevitable.
"Oh yeah? You don't help anyone that doesn't help you back, sister. What's the real reason? Whadda you want?"
Miranda's eyes widened and she hesitated, which Jack rewarded by freeing a fork and slinging it past her ear at high velocity.
"I ain't asking again," she said with cold promise.
A moment of hesitation more and Miranda called out, "Fine! I'm here...to apologize, alright? You didn't deserve what you got from Cerberus and you don't deserve what you've been given now!"
The sudden drop of the field, and the table, almost made Miranda fall forward to her knees. She glanced at the tatooed woman watching her but couldn't stand the intensity of the her gaze, so she focused on picking up the table and diningware instead.
"I swear, if you are fucking with me I will end you, Princess," The words were meant to be menacing but somehow only revealed the ragged edge of her pain.
"I didn't fly 2000 bloody miles just to 'fuck with you'," Miranda threw back angrily before picking up the bag at the foot of the bed and tossing it straight at Jack's head.
Jack managed to catch it before she could be struck but couldn't miss the disappointment on Miranda's face.
"Put these on," she said. "If you don't want to go to the ceremony that's fine, but we are getting you out of here before you kill someone."
"Fuck you."
"No, fuck you, Jack."
Miranda slammed the door on her way out and found herself looking at half a dozen fearful faces peering at her from around the corner of the hallway. She took a deep breath and straightened her clothes. "Everything's fine," she said reassuringly, "We'll be on our way shortly."
She wished she felt the relief she saw in their faces. What in the world had she gotten herself into? She almost decided right then and there to go call her shuttle and leave the psychotic twit to rot. Why was this her problem, anyway? Maybe Jack was right, why had she even come?
The woman leaned back against the wall and palmed her forehead stiffly. She could feel knots twisting her brow and tried to relax. She had lost control of the situation and hated that. It couldn't happen again.
The orderly who had been so frightened of Jack's bad dreams soon arrived with a wheelchair. "Will you need my help, Miss?"
She shook her head and gave him a soft smile, "I can take it from here. Thank you for all your assistance."
He nodded gratefully, "Good luck then. To you both."
"I'll need it," She said with a playful wink. That seemed to relax him and he departed with a smile.
After an appropriate wait she opened the door and braced it with the chair, peering inside to see if Jack had finished dressing. She had thrown off the covers, gotten a sweatshirt on and just about shimmied her way into the loose navy pants from the bag. Miranda made no pretense of helping with that bit but walked to the opposite side of the bed to pin up the loose hanging sleeve of her left arm. Neither one of them wanted to be the first to speak.
As Miranda finished she found her eyes drawn to the mess that was Jack's hair. The long section of it she normally kept in a tail was tangled and the rest was in that odd stage of short that made it perpetually unruly. She took the liberty of handing the woman a brush and received a glare in return though she started pulling it through her locks just the same. Taking that as a good sign the Doctor started pinning the leg of her pants.
"Lawson," came a subdued voice.
"What is it?"
When Miranda looked up she saw Jack clutching a hairband between her fingers and frustration written on her face. Schooling her face dispassionately she took the hairband and moved to the head of the bed, smoothly picking up the brush from Jack's lap on her way. She used the brush and her palms to smooth the woman's hair back into her usual ponytail, the ebon strands silky and smooth between her fingers. Jack kept her eyes sullenly downcast throughout.
When Miranda seemed satisfied, she lifted Jack's chin and appraised her face, "Makeup?"
Jack pulled her chin free of the woman's grasp. "Nah. Nobody's gonna be where we're goin'." She gestured for the chair and slid her leg over the side of the bed, lifting herself up into a sitting position.
Miranda backed it up to the side table and offered her hand and shoulder to assist. Once she was settled, Miranda gathered up both their things and slung them on the handles of the chair before moving to prop the door. It was quiet as a church outside. Everyone had fled.
Dr. Gellar spotted them as they made their way to the front door and came with an outstretched hand which Miranda took and shook. They exchanged pleasant goodbyes that Jack paid no attention to, her eyes fixated on the sunlight streaming in from the makeshift door. The kiss of that sun on Jack's skin as they rolled out into the summer day made her eyes close and she sighed, leaning back into the chair.
Even Miranda couldn't avoid a smile at the warmth. She wheeled along a cleared path to the back of the building and remotely opened the door of her parked shuttle. Jack parted her eyelids at the bump of the chair hitting the ramp and Miranda asked, "so, where are we going?"
"South. It's not too far."
Miranda had her suspicions about where they were headed. She got Jack settled in the back and climbed into the front, taking the controls and lifting the craft steadily. She keyed in the reports from downtown London, where coverage of the Memorial Event was underway. Various dignitaries of every race and species were giving speeches about victory and honor, perseverance and sacrifice, and unity most of all.
The audio played as they flew through the ruins of the largest city in the UK, but the shuttle was otherwise silent until Jack finally straightened and pointed out the window, "Right there. By that old freight unit."
Miranda followed her cues until they set down but looked around at the terrain doubtfully, "We may need to use biotics to get around some of this rubble."
Jack grunted but didn't reply, reaching over and opening the door before Miranda could get out. She waited for her to come around, eyes fixed bleakly outside. "Do me a favor. Don't say a word, ok? I don't want to talk about it, ever," she muttered as Miranda wheeled her out.
This must have been the place where it happened, Miranda thought. She had read what accounts were available about the scattered retreat Jack and her students had covered against all odds. Because Jack was the only survivor and the rest had been pulling back there were no tales of their final moments, though. The only notation was that they found Jack crushed by a large vehicle, somehow clinging to life.
They labored over the rubble wherever Jack directed listening to the voice of Haiko Berwick, the newly elected Prime Minister of the Alliance. Eventually they found a clear spot with a relatively unobscured view of their surroundings and Miranda took a respectful step back to give Jack some space. The sky was clear, the temperature warm, and there were small birds flittering between the bones of the buildings, seeking food. It was a beautiful day.
"We come together today as an affirmation of our spirit," came the aged tenor of the Prime Minister. "This is as much a celebration of that spirit and our collective drive to survive as it is a mourning for those that sacrificed themselves on our behalf."
The sun shone down on the upturned faces of thousands by the Thames, each delegation surrounding a large podium with an enormous bonfire stretching into the sky. Garrus was there beside Adrien Victus and the rest of his Turian brethren, arms folded. The Krogan gathered to their right, Wrex and Grunt both standing proud as they represented Clan Urdnot. One of the Rachni stood unobtrusively with them as an honored guest. Across from them stood the Quarian Admiralty, flanking three of the newly resurrected Geth Primes. Almost as ironic was the presence of both Councilor Tevos and Aria T'Loak from the Asari contingent, standing together as they listened somberly. Salarians, Drell, Batarians, Elcor, Hanarians and the Volus filled the rest of the space, surrounded by the members of the Alliance Government.
The leader of the Alliance continued, "For it is not just those of us who stand here who have lost our friends and loved ones. As long as history has been recorded, every species who reached their cultural apex was ruthlessly cut down by the same implacable enemy. Who will speak for them?"
All the collected scientists and staff at the data storage facility now being called 'Vigil' gathered in the lobby where large holo monitors had been set up for the services. They watched and listened soberly, their thoughts on the high price paid for what was stored within their walls.
"What can be said about the quality of those souls who have gone before us? What words can describe our loss and our gain?"
On the deck of the Normandy gathered the crew as they placed new nameplates on the wall for each of them that had perished, including everyone that had served with Shepard on her campaigns. Last of the plates to be placed in a central place of honor was one naming Admiral David Anderson. Commander Ashley Williams called for attention as it rested in its final place and they all saluted, including one somber Asari and a sniffling Quarian.
"Without them, their knowledge, their labor, their passion, none of us would be here. Without their fire to resist the inevitable we would not exist. Without the efforts they made to conceive and build upon the Crucible the enemy could not have been defeated."
James Vega stood at attention with a squad of his fellow N7 marines as they listened to the words. Training was called off for the day in honor of the celebrations but the others were ever at the forefront of his thoughts, especially Ashley, so far away.
"It is only through our combined sacrifice that we are free to move forward. We owe it to them to make this galaxy everything the Reapers said it was not. The time for fear is over. The time for unity is now."
Gathered in a small group beside the still form of Shepard was Jacob, Brynn, and one of the Rachni builders. Jacob held up another glass to the woman, smiling.
"We're here to celebrate and that's what we'll do. One?"
The Rachni lowered its head and turned its compound eyes on the red headed soldier. Multichorded melodies arose over the hum of the equipment as it reached out to her. It sang of the gratitude they had for her decision to free them, the efforts they had made in return and the results of those efforts. It told her about those that had lived and died, and the victory that had been achieved. It told her of the rebuilding, and the efforts of the Normandy and her mate to come back to her by repairing the gates. It told her of the team of people working to bring her back to consciousness. Finally, it gave her the message so painstakingly crafted by her beloved, explaining that they had a child on the way and all their shared dreams of a life together now lay before them, if she would simply claim it.
"What do you think? Does she hear you?" Taylor asked quietly.
On the side monitor displaying her neural activity, there were several spikes.
"We believe she can understand, Jacob. We see the colors of her aura. She wishes to wake."
Jacob leaned over her and spoke softly in her ear. "Hang tight, Shepard. We're coming."
Jack was quiet for most of the trip back to Colorado. She slept on and off and looked thoughtfully out the window of the shuttle for the rest. The silence was uncharacteristic, but Miranda didn't get the sense that it was a negative frame of mind, thanks to what happened before they left.
Miranda had gotten a message from Jacob while they were still in the ruins giving her the okay to bring Jack back to Vigil, followed quickly by another message from the hospital that some items had been left behind in Jack's room. Jack couldn't imagine what those items could be, but Miranda just shrugged and headed back for a quick stop. There was a large group of people milling around the entrance that turned to look at them both as Miranda wheeled her up. Some of them were clearly injured but not all. Lawson felt Jack stiffen in the chair as one of the men approached, his arm in a sling.
"You Jack?" he asked flatly.
"Yeah? Who are you?" she replied between clenched teeth.
The rest of the crowd gathered up behind him and the biotic wondered if there was about to be a fight. "Name's Dolan," he said, holding out his right hand. As she took it warily he continued, "Now, we're not here to embarrass you; if I were in your shoes I'd just want to be left alone. It's a special day though, today. It's a day for gratitude and remembrance, and that's why we're here."
He held out a framed photo with a group of smiling people and Jack just looked at it. "Whattaya want me to do with this?"
"Keep it. Not everyone could be here but we got pictures of the majority." When Jack showed no sign of understanding he spoke again, "Jack, we're breathing because of you. You and those kids." Jack's dark eyes looked up at him in shock. "If I'd had any idea what you were doing, I'd have come back and laid down my life for them. For you. It was such a mess out there." He shook his head, eyes haunted, "All I could do was try and protect my people. You and your squad held the line, though. All I can say, all we can say, is thank you."
Jack looked away. She couldn't meet his eyes. The group came forward one at a time to put their photos in her lap and salute in each of their species' fashion. They were mostly human, but there were others there, too, Asari and Turians. As they slowly filed past, Jack's defenses crumbled, along with her expression. Miranda couldn't remember ever seeing Jack cry, but she cradled her brow with her hand and the tears came nevertheless. Jack's supporters didn't linger, sensing that Nolan had been correct about Jack's desire for privacy. Nolan stayed until the end however, then nodded to Miranda gravely before saluting Jack himself. He held it longer than the rest, then turned on his heels with military precision before walking away.
Lawson said nothing, just turning Jack toward the shuttle once everyone had gone. Jack was looking at the photos, one by one, and Miranda noticed that her hand had a slight tremor. Once her chair was secured, Jack asked, "Hey, you think I could get...a drink or something?"
"Check the side compartment," she said as she climbed into the pilot's chair.
Opening it revealed a half bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, a foil pack of pills, bottles of water and a handful of meal replacement bars. Jack took a look at the pill label and hmphed, "This is the same shit I used to detox at Grissom. How'd you know?"
She replied without turning, prepping the shuttle for takeoff. "One day, Jack, you'll realize I really do know everything."
Jack was mid-insult when she had another thought, "Did you arrange that?" She pointed her thumb behind them at the hospital.
Miranda glanced back to see the reference then said, "Oh. That was Dr. Gellar."
"Huh," she exhaled, surprised; then with some effort popped out the first pill in the sequence, swallowing it with a swig of Bourbon. When she saw Miranda glaring at her she set the bottle down long enough to give her the finger, then took another swig and put it all away in favor of the photos.
Once Miranda set the auto-pilot she came back to the rear compartment where there was more space. She got in a badly needed few hours of work delegating responsibilities to her team until she struggled to keep her eyes open. Then she stretched and turned her eyes into the dark where the moon, stars and frequent re-entries fought to keep the sky luminescent.
Light snoring woke her. It seemed she dozed off watching the mesmerizing show. She looked left at the sound's source and beheld Jack's pale profile as she slept. Her head was tilted against the headrest and her lips had slightly parted, the barely perceptible snoring only waking her because she was so accustomed to having a sleeping space all to herself. Jack's long dark lashes were a sharp contrast to her skin and her eyelids twitched as she dreamt.
Miranda wondered what she dreamed about; wondered if Jack ever envisioned green meadows and glassy water or if it was all about conquest and blood as she would have everyone believe. Unlike most, Miranda understood the hate that drove Jack. The war Miranda waged against her enemies simply involved credits and information more often than biotics and bullets. Like her, Miranda trusted no one except herself…...and Shepard, so she had few friends.
Unlike Jack, she didn't push everyone away with insults and threats. Even your enemies could be useful if they weren't trying to shoot you on sight. Miranda had little time to waste on such behavior from anyone else but found herself drawn into arguing with the woman every time. There was something magnetic about their little civil war, a challenge in Jack's eyes she simply couldn't let pass.
She still remembered their wicked gleam at Anderson's apartment as they sparred and the curl of her dark lips every time she'd score a point. Miranda wondered how it would feel to run her thumb over them, how her smooth cheek would feel under her palm. How Jack's blazing aspect might soften if...
"Hey, Cheerleader. You tryin' ta get us killed?"
Miranda's eyes snapped open to see those eyes fixed irritably upon her, the autopilot alarm slowly climbing in volume. She hesitated a moment under that look, the lingering gravity of the dream fading away to confusion until she shook her head, moved forward with a mumbled apology and brought them in for a landing.
The facility was already active as the sun rose and Miranda was greeted warmly by a group of people dressed in suits and lab coats as they rolled in. She confirmed her attendance at a meeting later that morning while heading to the elevator. When it began to drop Jack shifted in her chair. "You live underground? Doesn't that give you the creeps?"
"No more than living in the vacuum of space."
"Yeah, but at least there you can see the stars."
"Says the woman who chose to live under the engine compartment," Miranda said, smirking.
"Wanting to be away from people doesn't mean I want to live in a coffin. Been there, done that, blew it up."
"You know there's something else that keeps people away? It's called a door," Miranda said with a chuckle, "That thing we aren't going to have between us now?"
"Funny," Jack responded flatly as the doors slid open revealing a long hallway that looked more like a hotel than a military facility. "You guys get room service here too?"
"If you have a paid assistant I guess you could call it that. There's a cafeteria up one floor if you get hungry, but I wanted to get you settled first."
They stopped in front of a door and Miranda stepped around the chair to run her palm over the scanner before the door opened.
When Jack saw the space, her eyes narrowed. It wasn't much more than twice the size of her hospital room, no matter how well apportioned, "Wait. This is where you live?"
"I did say it was a research facility in the middle of nowhere," she replied smoothly, maneuvering Jack's chair by the first of two twin beds. Rails had been installed along the wall to allow a smooth transition from a wheelchair, "What exactly were you expecting?"
"For the Queen of Sheba? I'm surprised you didn't have the fucking auditorium converted."
Miranda smiled crookedly and leaned in a bit closer to murmur, "That's Shepard's room."
Jack snickered and started working out how best to use the rail. Miranda left her to it, dropping their things at the foot of each bed and heading for the bathroom. She needed a proper shower to be alert for her meeting.
"You have a terminal I can use while you're gone?" Jack asked after she closed the door.
Miranda called back, "I don't know if you have access yet. You can use my pad there if you want and I'll look into it today."
By the time Miranda came back out ready for work Jack was asleep; the top blanket pulled around her from one side. She tried to stay quiet as she picked out an outfit from the closet and dressed. Finally, the doctor moved her pad to Jack's side table, making sure that the latest projections on the shape and function of the prosthetic designs they were testing would be seen. She paused and watched her sleep for a moment longer, still struck by the dream in the shuttle. She shook her head in dismay before departing; it was an inconvenient distraction.
Jack woke to a mixture of smells that described Miranda succinctly. Perfume, hair gel, makeup, body wash; they lingered in the air together, unmistakeable. It sure beat the smells of the hospital, she had to admit. A delicate sniff of her own told Jack that she should take advantage of the shower, too. Miranda couldn't babysit her, she made that clear. It was time to take care of her own business.
More than an hour, a thousand curses and several bruises later Jack was finally able to sit on the edge of her bed, running a towel through her hair. It hadn't been easy, but she preferred the red welts and bumps on her hips, knee and elbow to pitying stares. She'd get better with time.
Jack wasn't the type for social graces but she had an increasingly annoying amount of gratitude for that Doctor at the recovery center. The guy didn't have time to breathe but somehow made arrangements for one of his biggest pain in the ass patients to meet with the few people in this world who could understand what she was going through. She'd be damned if she was going to have tea with him but even she could say thank you.
She brushed her hair back with her right hand and left it to dry while scooching back on the bed until she could rest her back on the backboard. Then she reached over and pulled Miranda's work tablet onto her lap, fingertips skittering across the panel to wake it.
The schematics she found there gave her pause; they were intricate and detailed. They animated to display their movement and Jack was hard pressed to tell the difference between them and the real thing. The specifications made little sense to her but she scrolled through them anyway, filtering for any detail to satisfy the growing hunger in her belly. She had no reason to have ever looked at this type of technology before the war, so she wasn't sure if these were something available before the Reapers destroyed all their manufacturing or not. She saw no price tags, though. Had Miranda been researching the prosthetics available for her? It would make sense, but it added to a growing disquiet Jack felt about the woman.
Miranda said she had come to apologize, but there was an apology and then there was this. She sighed. Maybe she was making too much out of it but maybe Miranda had something more to apologize for than she had let on. Did it really matter though? She bent at the waist to fish out her meds and the whiskey, not liking where her thoughts were taking her. In the end, she needed the prosthetics. Once she had them she could do whatever the fuck she wanted. If that meant Miranda paid for them with her guilt, who cared? Was it so terrible for Cerberus to actually help her for a change, even if indirectly?
The aged liquor burned her throat satisfactorily. The answer was no. She'd take this train as far as she could, then she'd bail. Her eyes focused on the arm and the leg. The way they moved was mesmerizing. She wanted them and that was enough. She logged into her accounts and searched for a Dr. Gellar in London, finding him after a few minutes.
Dr. Gellar,
I couldn't believe when you (deleted)
It was a huge surprise, knowing how (deleted)
I wanted to say I appreciate (deleted)
Thank you for everything you (deleted)
Thanks.
Jack
Pathetic. Oh well. She hit send.
She was surprised to see over 2 dozen unread messages; a bunch of get wells from folks that didn't make yesterday's gathering, from the rest of the Normandy crew, and one from Kahlee Sanders. She actually wanted Jack to help her get the Academy running again, even after getting their best and brightest killed. Yeah, not ready to deal with that yet. Garrus even passed along greetings from Tali and Liara. That was pretty cool.
Another message arrived from Miranda, which contained content forwarded from someone she didn't recognize.
Jack,
Take a look at the thread below. While we might not be able to make your fashion dreams come true, we have access to some basics, at last. I've set aside some funds to get whatever you need, including toiletries.
P.S.
Your hair is lovely. If you decided not to shave it this time, you wouldn't hurt my feelings.
M
Her eyes widened in disbelief. She scanned over it again, sure she was missing some back-handed insult, but there was nothing there. Jack wanted to get up and pace but couldn't for obvious reasons, so she glared at her missing leg as if this was all its fault. Instead she found herself touching her hair and trying to figure out the woman's angle. Her lips curled into a snarl when she realized she was actually self conscious because of that comment. Who in the actual fuck did she think she was? Quickly she replied, hammering down the send key.
Fuck your feelings.
After she sent it she took a few breaths and felt an unexpected pang of guilt. Everything she had going for her was because of Miranda. While the message could have been some subtle way of slamming her, the woman had been creepily nice over the past few days. She ran her hand through her hair again and chewed her lip, deciding she might have gone too far. No matter how nice she was acting now, Miranda had her limits and Jack needed her. It was not the best time to tangle up. Then, before she could change her mind,
J/K. Thanks.
Jack
Bases covered, she thought. The whole thing left a sour taste in her mouth that she sweetened with Bourbon. She ran her fingernails roughly over her scalp in defiance. God dammit, she hated compliments.
