"Why are you wearing that hat?"
Shepard smiled enigmatically, resettling the cap on her head as they weaved their way through the crowded spaceport.
"I guess it's just my way of saying Go Admirals," she baritoned in her best Derek Rogers impersonation, "And if there's one thing postwar life has taught me, it's that a hat with a brim is the civilian equivalent of a tactical cloak."
Miranda spied the rapid transit station. She cut through the crowd, her companion following in the narrow corridor of space that opened in her wake before zippering closed behind them. Shepard, for her part, was trying to get used to the extra width of the tiny human strapped onto her back. Somehow the issue of personal space hadn't come up with the same frequency when the thing strapped to her back was a Widow.
"Where did you even get it?" Miranda's tone bordered on morbid curiosity.
"The hat?" Shepard shrugged, which her little passenger seemed to enjoy if the approving pats on her shoulder were any indication, "Actually, Jack sent it to me. She sort of roped me into attending the season opener."
Miranda blinked, "Why? You don't know the first thing about biotiball."
"Maybe she wants me there as the mascot," Shepard laughed, shifting the cap again like she couldn't quite get it to sit right.
"Go Admirals!" a tall turian called out as she walked by.
"Go Admirals!" Shepard called back.
Miranda shook her head, stepping up to the console to enter their destination.
"Where are we going, anyway?" Shepard asked, leaning over her companion's shoulder even as the kid leaned over hers.
"Shepard Plaza," Miranda replied, fingers flying across the interface, "I've been meaning to see it, but the opportunity never presented itself."
Shepard raised a brow, "You're worried about me getting recognized and you want to go stand near a statue of me?"
"I'm sure the hat will confound even the most astute observers," Miranda remarked dryly, heading in the direction of a row of shuttles. They settled into one, and before long they were zooming across the city, the VI pilot cheerily announcing the appearance of notable sites along the way.
Turning from the window emulators, Shepard glanced at the map Miranda had pulled up on her omni-tool, "Just Shepard Plaza now, eh?"
"They can't very well call it a memorial plaza anymore, what with you being alive," Miranda pointed out. The child, who had been watching the zooming scenery now turned his attention to the glowing interface, kicking his feet delightedly through an area labelled 'Financial District'.
"They're just going to have to change it back when I die," Shepard remarked, "Come to think of it, we could wreak some serious havoc on the signage people if you brought me back again."
Miranda gave her a sideways glance, "Didn't I tell you I'm out of the resurrection game for good?"
"Well yeah, but… doesn't the potential for mischief make you want to reconsider?"
Miranda shrugged, "Not generally, no."
With a small smile, Shepard returned her gaze to the window.
"Probably for the best," she concluded, leaning on her fist, "Less chance of you falling in love with the next handsome corpse…"
The ride was brief, and before long the shuttle dipped down towards a sprawling plaza, situating itself beside a row of identical vehicles.
"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come here," Miranda conceded as they stepped out, "It was easy to blend in at the spaceport, but the plaza's not nearly as crowded."
"Don't worry about it, no one's paying any attention to me," Shepard replied, "They're all looking at her."
Miranda followed her gaze to the center of the square. There, on a slightly raised platform, crouching behind an artfully rendered barricade, a rifle gripped in her hands and brass heat sinks sunken into the ground around her boots, was the hero of the Blitz.
It was a fairly good rendition, Shepard looking young and fierce and indomitable, an untested corporal with the toughest battles and the greatest victories of her life yet before her. Possibly the larger share of the pain too, though with Mindoir just six years past that was less certain. The real Shepard was looking on with an unreadable expression, her eyes as opaque as the smooth metallic ones on the statue before them.
"What do you think?" Miranda prompted.
Shepard still seemed to be trying to decide, "It does look like Anderson's…"
"Well, technically it came first," Miranda pointed out, "But I suspect that look might just be an Alliance standard. The statue of Jon Grissom in the mess hall is made of synthetic brass as well."
"Synthetic brass," Shepard snickered to herself, "guess someone in the Alliance has a sense of humor."
"Or completely missed the subtext, more like."
The remark earned Miranda a more unfettered laugh from the woman beside her.
"Maybe go easy on the Alliance, Miss Lawson," Shepard suggested, starting off in the direction of the statue, "You do work for them these days."
"I thought you were trying to get me to be more critical of my employers," Miranda said, following along beside her.
"Only the evil ones," Shepard clarified.
They had paused just short of the bulk of the onlookers, where they could still talk freely in low tones.
"I would've given my left arm for just one gun as nice as that one during the Blitz," Shepard muttered, "Come to think of it, I don't think heat sinks had even been invented yet. A pile of used stims would have been a lot more accurate."
"I doubt a pile of used stims would have looked good on the hero of the Blitz," Miranda observed.
Shepard's expression darkened, more and more akin to the one the statue wore.
"Things narrow fast when you're out there alone, shooting. You go out for the right reasons— for humanity and for the innocent people at your back. But before long, you're pulling the trigger for every corpse you saw on Mindoir, for your family, for your mother…" Shepard trailed off, gaze drifting from the statue across the rest of the plaza, "At some point, even that fades away and you're not fighting for a damn thing other than yourself. I wasn't a hero on Elysium, not after the first nine hours anyway."
Miranda's expression was grim, but certain, "You didn't break and Elysium didn't fall. War always comes down to trading what you can lose for what you can't."
"And the real trick is figuring out which is which," Shepard grunted, rubbing absently at a phantom soreness that only existed in her memory, "After the Blitz I couldn't stand fighting alone. If you're part of a squad, no matter how narrow things get, there's always a voice on your comm, another set of vitals to watch on your HUD. That's why I started shying away from sniper posts and ended up on the officer track. Well, that and the Star of Terra."
Miranda nodded, resting a reassuring hand against the small of Shepard's back. There was little doubt that the galaxy owed its collective existence to this trick of proclivity. She herself owed far more.
The sudden sensation of tiny feet dangling just short of her knuckles took her by surprise.
"Shepard, they said, you'll be remembered for this…" the woman beside her sighed nostalgically, her moroseness already fading. She turned to Miranda with an almost coy expression, "Said the same thing after I beat the reapers, you know."
Miranda shot her an incredulous look, "What, you think you've got more in you even after that?"
Shepard returned a grin, which kept her next words from ringing too grim, "Honestly, I don't think I'd be here if I didn't."
They stood for a moment in silence, watching the small crowd buzz around the statue.
"It's a passable likeness," Miranda admitted at last, grudgingly, "The asari hanging all over it is an unexpected touch of accuracy."
Shepard laughed, watching the group of Maidens crowd around for a holo, "Seems pretty stoic in the face of all that attention. Probably waiting around for someone as emotionally stunted as it is."
The offhanded smack to Shepard's forearm was practically involuntary, and Miranda was about to reply when something more important occurred to her.
"They forgot the scar across your eyebrow," she said with a frown.
"Huh."
"Huh?" Miranda's brow shot up, "Is that all?"
Shepard shrugged, "It's just a scar. It's not that important."
"Do you know how many times in the course of rebuilding you I said to myself 'It's just a blank, it's not that important'?" Miranda asked, frown deepening.
Shepard gave her a knowing look.
"My point is, if I could take the time to replicate it in cultured flesh they could bloody well chisel it into their statue," Miranda insisted.
"Can't say I'm surprised to hear that yours is the superior rendition," Shepard laughed.
Miranda nodded, considering the point quite uncontroversial. Let the artists boast about looking at a block and seeing the sculpture within. She had looked at a freezer burned lump of organic matter and seen Commander Shepard.
Just then, a voice from behind interrupted them.
"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear your discussion of scargate."
Miranda froze, hand dropping from Shepard's back as she cautiously turned to see who had spoken. Shepard sighed, turning as well, though she already knew who the voice belonged to.
"Conrad Verner," he introduced himself, "President of- Oh my god, is that you, She-"
Before he could manage the second syllable of her name, Shepard had an arm clamped around his neck, practically dragging him away from the crowd even as she pulled the hat still lower over her face with her free hand. Miranda followed, mildly perplexed, though probably not as much as she should have been.
"I almost didn't recognize you in that hat!" Conrad laughed when she released him, completely unruffled by the minor assault, "Hey, is that a baby?"
"I'm undercover, Conrad," Shepard replied almost automatically.
"Got it, that makes sense," he nodded, as if it did. Miranda avoided the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.
"Anyway, getting back to the scar," he returned his attention to Miranda, "There's been a lot of discussion of that on the forums, and the consensus seems to be that contrary to popular opinion, she received it after the Blitz."
"Nonsense," Miranda crossed her arms, "It's clearly visible during the commendation ceremony."
"Yes, but hear me out," Conrad persisted, "Between the Blitz itself and the ceremony where the famous 'Commendation Vid' was taken, there were several lesser-known missions-"
"I'm familiar with Operation Igneous," Miranda interjected impatiently, "I've also seen the medical report filed by the Agincourt's doctor immediately after the Blitz. Corporal Shepard was treated for severe sleep deprivation and a minor laceration across her left brow."
He shook his head, "Yes, but-"
"Shepard?" Miranda turned to her with an expectant look.
"What?" Shepard's brow furrowed and she glanced back and forth between them, "I don't remember."
"Now wait just a minute," Conrad went on without missing a beat, "Those medical records won't be declassified until 2226!"
Miranda didn't so much as blink, and the look of triumph faded, his eyes widening slightly as her identity finally crystalized in his mind. Now would come that inevitable question: Are you Miranda Lawson?
"Can I have you comm frequency?"
Or that one. She was almost forgetting to expect that one now that her primary claim to fame was her attachment to the woman who'd beaten the reapers.
"No," Shepard replied before she could.
He sighed, "Oh well. At least I still have yours…"
Miranda shot the woman beside her an incredulous look, and Shepard raised her hands defensively, "He was helping with the crucible!" she said, as if that was somehow more believable.
"Conrad," a chiding voice interrupted before Miranda could express any further skepticism, "Are you asking other women for their comm frequencies when you're supposed to be scoping out our wedding location?"
A woman with short brown hair strode towards them. Her long-suffering expression might have seemed melodramatic had she not just revealed herself to be the fiancée of Conrad Verner.
"Jenna, is that you?" Shepard's brow knit incredulously as she added, "You're really still with Conrad?"
"You know me Shepard, never one to give up on a difficult post," she replied with a bemused expression, hands on her hips, "Good to see you again. Can't say I expected to run into you here, at least not in the flesh. And you must be Miranda Lawson. So who's the little guy? I feel like Conrad would have told me if there was a junior Shepard running around out there."
"Shepard's undercover," Conrad explained.
"Undercover?" Jenna raised a brow, and for a moment it seemed like she might press the issue.
"Well, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me," she said instead, tossing Shepard a small wink, "You never did manage to blow my cover all those years ago at Chora's Den, so I might as well return the favor."
"So, the two of you are planning your wedding?" Miranda interjected, eager to move on before Conrad caught wind of any possible conspiracy.
"Yep," he replied cheerily, all thoughts of the baby forgotten again, "You know, Shepard Memorial Plaza has been voted hottest wedding location three years in a row now!"
"Conrad and the rest of the flock may have had something to do with that," Jenna put in.
"You call yourselves the flock?" Shepard rubbed her forehead, "Conrad…"
"Oh, we just organized a little get-out-the-vote campaign, nothing major," Conrad insisted, waving his hand dismissively, "Say, you wouldn't be able to come to the wedding, would you?"
To Miranda's (and probably Jenna's, and possibly even Conrad's) great surprise, Shepard didn't immediately decline.
"Send me the date," she said, "I'll see what I can do."
A smile spread across Conrad's face, lifting the corners of his goatee so that it appeared to be grinning as well, "Really? You'd really be there?"
"I don't think he was this happy when I agreed to be there," Miranda heard Jenna mutter.
Conrad was already going on excitedly, "You could be my best man! I asked the vice president, but he would definitely underst-"
"Conrad, I'm not even sure if I'll be in the same system," Shepard interrupted, "Just send me the dates and I'll look into it."
"Thanks Shepard. This means a lot to us," he said with a nod, slipping his arm around his fiancée, who sighed and shook her head with fond exasperation.
She turned to Miranda, "You would of course be welcome too. Along with anyone else you might want to bring…"
She trailed off, shooting a significant glance at the baby snoozing on Shepard's shoulder.
"Yeah, like Garrus, or Tali," Conrad provided, nodding excitedly.
"In any case, we really should get going," Jenna said, "We have an appointment this afternoon with a wedding planner here on Elysium, and you know how salarians hate it when you're late."
Conrad started to make a protesting noise, but when she added that standing around like this was conspicuous, and they ran the risk of blowing the Shepard's cover, he finally acquiesced. With one last wave, they headed off in the direction of the rapid transit station, Miranda and Shepard watching until they disappeared into one of the shuttles.
"So," Shepard said after a moment of silence, "that was Conrad Verner…"
"He certainly is enthusiastic," Miranda shook her head, "Not to mention well-informed."
Shepard winced slightly, "Bet you didn't know they had extranet forums devoted to questions like which day I acquired which scar."
"Oh, I did," Miranda replied, "I post on them anonymously sometimes."
Shepard did a double-take, but Miranda merely adopted an enigmatic smile and declined to elaborate.
"Shall we find somewhere to eat?" she proposed, activating her omni-tool, "You were desperate enough to eat a ration bar several hours ago so you must be starving by now."
"Oh look," she indicated one of the recommendations, "There's a sushi place a block north of here…"
Shepard gave her a wary glance, but leaned in, reading aloud, "Skyllian Sushi is the best thing to happen to Elysium since Corporal Shepard decided the colony would be a fun place for a holiday."
"There's more," Miranda continued, "The only place outside of the milky way with better rolls is Ryuusei's on the Silversun Strip, but good luck getting a table there."
"Good luck indeed," she added gravely.
Shepard eyed her narrowly until she looked up with an unassuming glance.
"Shall we?"
Shepard nodded, shoving her hands into her pockets as she spared one final glance back at the statue. An overeager salarian had enveloped it in a bear hug as his friend hurried to capture a holo.
"I still prefer my version," Miranda concluded, looping an arm around Shepard's lower back, this time nimbly evading the buffet of swinging feet as she held her omni-tool out before them.
Shepard smiled as the camera clicked, "Me too."
Staring down at the picture, Miranda sighed.
It was perfect—she and Shepard looking casual, comfortable, happy. 'Oriana's going to say I recognize you, but who's that attractive marine in the stylish hat?' Shepard had teased. Just for that, Miranda had sent the garish thing spinning off to some far corner of the room in a cloud of biotics, much to the amusement of a clapping child.
And therein lay the problem. She couldn't very well send the picture to Oriana without having some serious explaining to do about the dark-haired infant visible over Shepard's shoulder. The handy 'undercover' excuse seemed unlikely to work on anyone aside from Conrad Verner, her sister least of all.
"Alright Mr. Lawson, you've had a long day," she heard Shepard say from the other room.
"Must you call him that?" Miranda asked when she returned alone.
"No," Shepard eyed her carefully, "Is there something you'd rather I called him?"
Miranda sighed, leaning back into the couch as she crossed one leg over the other, "I suppose not. Henry isn't much better…"
Shepard came over and took a seat beside her, "Are you thinking about giving him a new name? Would it help?"
She mulled over it for a moment, absently scratching her collarbone, "Did I ever tell you why I kept the name Lawson?"
"Always figured it was easier than changing it to fuck you, dad outright," Shepard deadpanned.
A slow smile broke across her face, "Something like that…"
Shepard reached over and captured her anxious hand, lacing it in her own before resting them both on her raised thigh.
"There was no point in hiding," Miranda continued, "He was bound to find me working for Cerberus; the plan relied on immunity, not subterfuge. In that context, his name was just one more thing I took without his consent."
Shepard nodded, brow lightly furrowed in concentration. She was such a good listener. Hell, in the early days, she'd practically listened her way into Miranda's bed. Even after that, she'd kept listening—if anything, she'd listened closer— as if the act had earned her the words and not the other way around.
"You know, you don't have to make decisions around him anymore. Don't even have to factor him in," Shepard offered when she was silent for too long, "Personally, I'm an advocate of the 'let the kid name himself' approach."
"That is how we end up with names like Grunt."
"And Legion," Shepard defended, before admitting, "EDI helped with that one."
Miranda chuckled, but it fell off into abrupt silence.
"I don't know," she finally said, "If I decide not to keep him it isn't really my place to choose his name."
"He's got to start with something. People need a name to be born and a name to die— paperwork says so," Shepard persisted, adding more softly, "He is who he is, no matter what you call him. If he doesn't like it he can always join the army or make friends with James."
Miranda scoffed.
"You laugh, but your bastard of a father came up with Miranda and my beloved mother, god rest her soul, called me Jane."
"I like Jane," Miranda countered, "It's compact and punchy… like a proper report, or a good pistol."
"Or a drunk volus," Shepard grumbled.
"In any case, if the paperwork says anything," Miranda finally conceded, drumming her fingertips against Shepard's knuckles, "it's 'Henry Lawson'. No doubt to facilitate whatever recordkeeping sleight-of-hand was necessary."
"So call him Henry Lawson, or call him Grunt Jr..." Shepard continued. Miranda was shaking her head.
"Heck, you could call him Henry Shepard if you wanted to," Shepard muttered, almost to herself.
Almost.
The silence this time felt heavy, or maybe it was Miranda's stare. She was trying to decide if she'd heard right; try to decide whether it was idiotic to read significance in the last item in a string of jokes. Hard to laugh though, with that dead serious look on Shepard's face.
She felt the fingers entwined in hers tighten, then gently withdraw, and then Shepard was on her feet, retreating to the bedroom, raising a hand to stave off protests. And no, it wasn't a retreat, but a calculated maneuver. When she returned, there was a small, neatly-wrapped box in her hands.
"I was planning on waiting until Christmas," Shepard began, holding the box in both hands though it was far too small and light to merit it, "But if you're going to go making big decisions about the future I figure you better have all the information."
"There was one other reason I made sure I got some time off to spend with you this Christmas," she continued, taking a tentative step forward, "Seems like in the last few months I've been to every corner of the galaxy. Did a lot of thinking, mostly about you, and if it's convinced me of anything, it's that this is where I want to hang my hat."
Almost involuntarily, Miranda got to her feet.
"This wasn't part of the plan," Shepard went on, shooting a significant glance back to where a small child slept in the bedroom, "but it can be."
When her gaze returned to Miranda, it was set, "I just want you to know that no matter what you decide, it doesn't change a thing, not for me, anyway."
She started to hold out the box.
"You have to get on one knee." The words were out of her mouth before Miranda could even think.
Shepard raised a brow.
"It's an old Earth custom."
Shepard cocked her head, "I didn't know there were any old Earth customs for giving people rare mods."
Her heart actually skipped a beat, then the smile that spread across Shepard's face restarted it. Amicably, the admiral fell to one knee, and once again, presented the box.
Instinctively, Miranda's mind ran down that all-too-familiar checklist.
Mission. Cerberus. Oriana.
Done. Gone. Safe.
For a single instant, her mind was still, and clear. Then emotion surged into the void.
Shepard was watching her, still patient, still determined. She saw the clarity in Shepard's eyes, hoped Shepard saw the emotion in hers. Her hands were faintly trembling when she reached out to accept the box.
"You know, EDI once gave me a ring," Shepard said softly, "A victory ring."
Miranda's brow quirked, "Is that what this is?"
"Not exactly," Shepard adopted a half-cocked smile, "But maybe this is what victory really adds up to—optimism, possibility… occasional extravagance."
Slowly, Miranda undid the ribbon, lifting the lid away from the box.
"Shepard, it's…" she trailed off, gently lifting it out of its cushion. The little band felt light, yet solid. Her stomach leapt just looking at it.
Perfect, beautiful, ours.
Shepard got to her feet, setting the box aside.
"My old tags are melted into it," she explained, reaching out to take Miranda's hands in hers, "It was the one piece of me you gave away and I'm giving it back."
They leaned together, the tiny ring cradled in an excess of fingers.
"I was under the impression that that old Earth custom also involved a somewhat more unequivocal answer," Shepard remarked.
Miranda took a careful breath, "If you want an answer, perhaps you'd better ask a question."
It was all just ritual now. Just morning prayers and a twenty-one gun salute. And then everything would be theirs— the spaces, the decisions, the future…
"Will you marry me?" Shepard was teasing the metal band free of her fingers.
This is how victory feels. This is the end. This is the beginning.
"Yes," she said, unequivocally.
"God, you're really putting my present to shame this year."
Shepard's eyes blinked open, and she yawned, "Were you really lying awake worrying about that, Miss Lawson?" she muttered thickly.
"This was bound to happen sooner or later. Bit of a copout to count it as your Christmas present," she added, already closing her eyes again as she pulled Miranda back down against her like a blanket. They really should have made their way to the bedroom by now, though in a way, the cramped couch facilitated just the sort of entanglement both of them were so eager for at the moment.
Unconvinced, Miranda frowned into the shoulder that was currently serving as her pillow, "But all I got you is a mod-"
She caught herself. Shepard was suddenly very much awake.
"Were you about to say model ship?" she asked, pushing up onto her elbows, "I thought I had all of them…"
She trailed off, confusion rapidly refining into curiosity, "Can I open it now?"
"What makes you think I was going to say model ship?" Miranda demurred, determinedly snuggling back into her chest, "I could just as easily have gotten you a weapon mod."
"Okay," Shepard nodded impatiently, "Can I open it though?"
"Of course not," Miranda yawned herself, "I'm not going to go breaking the rules of Christmas."
"Damnit." Shepard heaved a sigh, collapsing back down against the couch.
Chuckling, Miranda leisurely pulled herself up to plant a kiss against Shepard's pout, "You're going to make a lovely wife, you know that?" she murmured.
"And you're going to make a cruel mistress," Shepard grunted, without opening her eyes.
"Hm?" Miranda queried, her lips following the tip of her nose up Shepard's neck.
"You know, it's not like I planned it this way," Shepard said, "I was going to surprise you. I practiced."
"Practiced?" Miranda teased, with tone and with teeth, "With who?"
Her question was met with silence.
Brow furrowing, Miranda drew back, "With who, Shepard?"
"Well… with you, sort of."
Pushing herself up, Miranda rocked back into a seated position on Shepard's chest. She crossed her arms.
Shepard groaned, rubbing her eyes, "Come on Miranda, can't we talk about this in the morning? I'm tired— I want to sleep and/or be kissed. Preferably both."
Miranda shook her head, and Shepard groaned again, draping an arm dramatically over her face.
"Are you familiar with the Shepard VI?" she mumbled at last.
"That shoddy piece of black market rubbish?" Miranda yawned again and shrugged, "I've seen it. Though I'm not sure it really deserves to be called a VI. It doesn't even attempt to simulate actual communication, just spouts out lame catchphrases if I recall correctly."
Shepard nodded, "That's the one. Caught a guy selling them on the Citadel one time. Made him give me a copy."
"Well that was foolish," Miranda frowned, "Putting garbage like that onto your omni-tool is asking for trouble."
"Yeah," Shepard chuckled, "Had to scrub it quite a bit when I got back. Given how lame the VI itself was, the implementation of the malware was surprisingly sophisticated."
Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose. Add to the list of bloody miracles that had saved the galaxy the fact that Cerberus and the reapers had never truly managed to understand the way Shepard thought, in spite of their best efforts. It was less that the woman was unassailable and more that there were some very unexpected windows one had to climb through…
"Anyway, I'd been waiting for a chance to crack the thing open ever since," Shepard went on, "So one night when I couldn't sleep and didn't want to wake you up I gave it a shot."
"I wish to god you'd just called," Miranda grumbled.
Shepard removed her arm from her face, grinning up at the other woman, "It was fun. It relies on a massive initial set of linguistic data, and it did have a crude algorithm for parsing speech, though it had never been implemented."
"Can't imagine why, when it so charmingly generates catchphrases," Miranda put in.
"Anyway, it seemed like it might be fun to try to improve it, and my hardsuit computer happens to contain a not insignificant repository of audio data from a certain someone…"
Miranda blinked, "You didn't."
Shepard's smile turned faintly bashful, "I did."
"You uploaded all of our private conversations into some dubious black-market VI program?" Miranda demanded.
"Just something based on a dubious black-market VI program," Shepard protested, "Besides, it doesn't even retain intelligible recordings. Just grinds them all up into predictive soup."
Miranda huffed, "And to think I was back here this whole time, missing you…"
"Hey, a Shepard VI costs about 200 credits!"
Miranda re-crossed her arms, still frowning, "Show me," she said.
With a sigh, Shepard gestured for Miranda to allow her to stand, before stretching and padding over to the nearby holo projector. She activated her omni-tool, making a series of selections before letting her arm fall to her side.
"Well?" Miranda prompted.
"You have to know the password to activate it," Shepard explained.
"Well I'm sure you know just how to turn me on," Miranda remarked dryly.
"Come on, it's not like that," Shepard groaned, "Do you have to make it sound so creepy?"
Without replying, Miranda gestured for her to go on, and Shepard turned back to the projector.
"Do you have a minute, Miranda?"
The projector activated, scattering light that took on a familiar form.
"Of course. What can I do for you, Commander?"
"Commander?" Miranda raised a brow, "A bit out of date, isn't it?"
"She's only as good as the data," Shepard pointed out, "so yes, most of the time she calls me Commander."
Miranda looked the image up and down, "And this is how you practiced?"
Shepard nodded ruefully, "Never could get her to say yes though. She always seemed to think there was something more important to do."
Miranda didn't look remotely surprised. "It's only as good as the data," she repeated, letting her arms fall to her sides.
"She did locate all of the relevant Alliance marriage paperwork for me," Shepard said, "That was helpful."
"Paperwork which you have yet to complete or even download in full. It does raise the question of how serious you are about this, Commander," the VI remarked, crossing its arms.
Miranda raised a brow, turning to Shepard, "It makes a fair point."
"Well I wasn't going to fill it out until you said yes," Shepard defended.
"But I did say yes," Miranda pointed out, glancing down at her omni-tool, "about three hours ago now."
Shepard frowned, "I'm going to bed," she announced testily, turning on her heels towards the bedroom, "Goodnight."
Miranda watched as the familiar figure faded before turning to follow.
"Goodnight, Shepard," she heard the VI intone as the room filled with darkness.
"For the last time, no."
His voice, however soft, echoed through the empty hangar bay.
James groaned, "Dios Esteban, quit diggin' in your heels!"
"Look, would you please just enjoy your holiday leave?" Cortez's frowning face emerged from the innards of the shuttle, "When was the last time you spent Christmas on Earth?"
"That's what I mean!" James threw his hands in the air, "The best people in the galaxy are back here for the holidays— you, me, Traynor, Joker, doc-"
"Liara's here?"
"Nah, not archaeology doc, medical doc."
Cortez raised a brow, "So the people she sees all the time, at work…"
"There's other people too," James insisted, "Jack's around, and that Jacob guy. And the others would totally come if she invited them! Our impending doom party was a blast— can you imagine how awesome our Christmas party could be if she and Sheila would quit acting like shut-ins?"
"Has it occurred to you that the two of them might actually want a little time to themselves?" Cortez asked, hands on his hips.
James looked flabbergasted, "On Christmas?"
Cortez sighed, "Look, even if we managed to get all the way to Grissom, we don't have the access codes to land. The station goes into lockdown during low-occupancy periods."
"Well Shepard got in somehow," James point out.
"Shepard is a spectre, an admiral, and a fairly talented hacker," Cortez enumerated, "So once you convince Kaidan, or Hackett, or Kasumi to come along, then maybe I'll consider it."
He very deliberately shoved his head back into a mess of wires, muttering, "Need a squad of three for a crazy mission like this anyway."
There was a sudden knock on the door.
Warily, Cortez re-emerged.
"Who was that?"
With only a grin for a reply, James strolled over to the door and hit the access button, "Well lookie here, if it isn't Matilda, come waltzing in just in the nick of time."
"Hello James, hello Steve," she greeted.
James made a show of counting them out on his fingers, "Uno, dos, tres… oh hey, look at that."
Cortez shot him a dirty look, but sure enough he leaned down to lift the access panel back into place.
"So, you got the codes for Grissom?" James asked, turning back to Oriana.
"Of course," she adopted a grin to match James' and held up an OSD, "My sister said I could use these anytime I needed to. A little holiday intervention seems like a noble enough cause."
While the two of them crowded into the back of the shuttle, Cortez took a heavy seat in the front. He punched up the onboard computer, setting it to calculate the optimal route to the spaceport.
"You sure your family's okay with you not being home on Christmas?" He asked, genuine concern in his tone.
"Honestly, my dad wasn't thrilled, but my mum talked him into it. She likes the idea of me spending Christmas with my sister. She thinks Miri's a good influence on me," Oriana replied, adding, "The fact that Admiral Shepard's going to be there didn't hurt either."
"Bet she wouldn't like it so much if she knew you'd also be spending Christmas with James Vega, who is definitely not a good influence," Cortez grumbled from the front seat.
"What can I say?" James ran a hand through his hair, a shit-eating grin on his face, "I'm not exactly the kinda guy you tell your mother about."
"Oh, she knows about you," Oriana replied simply.
Hitting the ignition, Cortez chuckled to himself. He had to hand it to a woman who could wipe the grin right off James Vega's face.
"Breakfast?" Shepard turned from the crib with a quizzical expression, "Didn't we just have breakfast yesterday."
"Yes, two days in a row, very impressive," Miranda replied, scooping the baby out of her arms, "You're ready for breakfast again aren't you Henry?"
She made no acknowledgement of the look Shepard was giving her, turning to head for the kitchen.
"At least let me cook this time," Shepard offered, hurrying up behind them, "You can feed him."
"Fine by me," Miranda agreed, setting him in the high-chair before taking a seat nearby.
After a few minutes, Shepard reappeared behind her, holding out a steaming mug of tea, "By the way, Merry Christmas, Miss Lawson," she said, leaning in to kiss the other woman's cheek.
"Merry Christmas, Shepard," Miranda replied, somewhat excessively charmed by the tiny clink her ring made as she accepted the mug.
"Would you mind holding off on the holiday celebrations until this afternoon?" Shepard asked, heading back over to the counter.
"As you like," Miranda replied, offering Henry a spoonful of food which he was eying disdainfully, and wondering if perhaps she should have left this task to Shepard, "I'm surprised you're so eager to wait."
"I wouldn't say I'm eager, but I know I'm not going to be able to tear myself away from it," Shepard clarified, "And I thought it might be fun to do something together this morning."
"Did you have something in mind?" Miranda asked.
"Yeah, Jack said something about you guys having an Armax arena?"
Miranda rolled her eyes, "We have an Alliance training simulator, yes."
"Then yeah," Shepard nodded, returning to her preparations, "I have something in mind."
"This is an illegal sim."
Shepard gave her a quizzical look, "It's supposed to be an untagged copy. How'd you know?"
"It was a very high-profile case, Shepard," Miranda replied, "Armax produced a popular line of sims based on missions you undertook during your hunt for Saren. When they announced the Port Hanshan scenario, Noveria Internal Affairs had them nailed to the wall faster than you can say injunction."
Shepard grinned, "You're well informed, Miss Lawson. This is a difficult sim to get your hands on, but as it happens, the agent overseeing the case sent me an untagged copy for my review."
"Aha," Miranda rested her hands on her hips, expression knowing, "Would this be the same agent who occasionally calls you in when she needs a hand taking someone down?"
"It's tit for tat," Shepard insisted, "I give her an asari forger, she tosses an illegal sim my way."
"Or a kiss."
Shepard laughed, "Funny you should say that, because I'm getting significantly fewer kisses overall since a certain vid made the extranet rounds..."
"God, I should have done that years ago," Miranda muttered, checking her mods one last time before holstering her Carnifex.
"Anyway, Noveria's an icy hellh- er…winter wonderland, so I figured it might be festive," Shepard continued.
Miranda raised a brow, "Shootouts with geth in the snow are your idea of festive?"
"Doing paperwork in your office with a mug of peppermint tea is yours, so neither of us is exactly great at this," Shepard countered.
"Fair enough." Miranda sighed, taking a moment to consider all the work she hadn't gotten done in the last few days. Honestly, there wasn't as much as she might have feared. Being a cog in the Alliance machine meant that when every other cog went home to celebrate the holidays it was difficult to make progress no matter how much diligent spinning one did.
"And you're quite sure you'll be comfortable taking the orders for once?"
"Aye aye, ma'am," Shepard saluted, "On your command."
Nodding sharply, Miranda turned, proceeding down the gangway towards the port. Gun, check. Squad, check. There were three sets of biometrics and three audio feeds reading out on her HUD as usual, one for her, one for Shepard, and one for the infant calmly napping back in the room. A bit unconventional, but it seemed to be working well, so long as the snoring didn't prove too distracting.
"Now the simulator can't really do the weather justice, so you just have to pretend it's cold," she heard Shepard saying, "Like so cold that Liara and Wrex haven't shut up about it since we stepped out of decontamination-"
Just then, a voice interrupted, "This is Port Hanshan Security, put down your weapons!"
Shepard shot her smirk, and Miranda couldn't help returning it.
"I'm feeling chilly already," she remarked, leading the way in the direction of the row of drawn guns.
"I think we're keeping him."
Shepard's only response was an incredulous snort, much to the delight of the gurgling infant on her lap.
"I'm serious," Miranda insisted, sagging back into the couch.
"You are so hopped up on medi-gel right now."
"Well maybe if you'd warned me about the rachni queen…" Miranda grumbled.
"Hey, no one warned me about the rachni queen," Shepard shot back, managing an indignant loll of her head, before adding, "Wait, did I actually ever fight the rachni queen?"
"Nope."
"Didn't think so," she grunted, lolling back her head, "Seems like I'd remember that."
They sat for a moment in silence, Henry fussing with Shepard's arm, searching for a way to coax his favorite orange toy into existence.
"That was fun," Miranda said, giving Shepard's thigh an affectionate pat, "Making peace with the geth and the rachni certainly hasn't diminished your talent for annihilating them."
"Yeah, I feel a bit bad about that," Shepard admitted, "Wonder how hard it would be to mod the ammunition into snowballs…"
Miranda scoffed, "Certainly no harder than solving that Towers of Hanoi problem."
"You're the squad leader, you solve the puzzles," Shepard said, unsympathetically.
Miranda exhaled dramatically, which was about as much resistance as she could manage at the moment. Her muscles were tingling delightfully; her biotics were singing. She wondered how many other sims from this line Shepard had managed to collect. She'd always wanted to see Ilos…
"Shepard," she persisted, suddenly recalling how she'd allowed herself to be distracted, "I think we're keeping him."
When there was no response, she turned, only to find that Shepard's eyes had pulled shut, her breath even.
Sighing, Miranda activated her omni-tool and presented it to the disappointed-looking Henry who immediately perked up.
She had the distinct feeling Shepard had known anyway long before she said it aloud. Lord knew she had.
"There's a shuttle landing in the hangar bay."
Shepard turned to Miranda with a frown, "Do you know who it is?"
"Alliance credentials…" Miranda scanned the screen. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed, "These are the access codes I set up for Oriana."
She began furiously typing again. "I should be able to access the security feed," she muttered.
A moment later, a fuzzy image appeared on her screen.
Shepard leaned down, squinting to get a better look at the figures emerging from the skycar, "Is that James?"
"I'm telling you, I thought it was a formal photo!" the large man was insisting.
"Oh right," Oriana countered, giving his shoulder a gentle shove, "like you weren't utterly smashed."
"Well yeah," he replied weakly, "that too…"
Miranda and Shepard exchanged looks.
"This is not my fault," Shepard stated definitively.
"This is not your fault," Miranda agreed, gesturing first to the image on the screen, and then to the audio readout, "But that is completely your fault."
"So what do we do?" Shepard said, "We can't exactly pretend we aren't at home."
"Yes, and Oriana does have my access codes as well," Miranda added thoughtfully.
"Hide?"
"Hide?" Miranda turned to her with a skeptical look.
"Sure— I'm an infiltration specialist, it would be a snap," Shepard grinned, "One time I left James alone on a deserted asteroid and it took him a solid week to find me."
Miranda blinked, "Why?"
"Training," Shepard explained, "Anderson left me on a moon, but we had an appointment to make with a dalatrass and you know how salarians hate it when you're late."
"I think," Miranda said calmly, "That we should tell them."
Shepard shot a look at Henry, "About him?"
"About everything," Miranda clarified, adding, "But yes, mostly him."
"You sure you're ready?" Shepard placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"Of course not," Miranda replied firmly, "But I'm getting over it."
They heard the singing coming down the hall long before they heard the knock. Henry looked up curiously from his spot on the floor, and once again Shepard and Miranda exchanged looks.
"It's open," Miranda called when the knock finally came. There was a pause in the caroling, then the door slid open.
"Merry Christmas!" Cortez, James, and Oriana shouted in unison as they stepped through the door. Then their gazes collectively landed on the baby who was gazing right back up at them, and the three of them froze.
And in that instant, Henry, who had been so stoic, so serene, filled his tiny lungs and let out a wail louder than any of them could have imagined.
"Shhh, shh… it's alright," Shepard murmured, bouncing Henry in her arms, her ears still ringing.
"Give him a little pat on the back, Lola," James suggested, "they like that."
"James, when your CO wants your opinion, she'll ask for it," Shepard grumbled, nonetheless giving his suggestion a try.
"What would you know about it anyway, Mr. Vega?" Cortez teased.
James shrugged, "I got a way with the bebés, you know."
Oriana meanwhile, was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the scene play out.
"So he's our father's clone?"
Miranda nodded, pouring out two cups of tea, "I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Ori."
"That's alright… I imagine your feelings about it are a good deal more complicated than mine are," Oriana replied evenly, accepting a steaming mug. Just then, something glinting on her sister's finger caught her eye.
"Is that a ring?!"
The three marines all turned at the sound of the outburst.
"A ring?" James repeated.
"No kidding? Shepard, congratulations," Cortez exclaimed warmly, slapping her back.
"Guys, I really appreciate your support," Shepard said, "but for right now can we just focus on calming Henry down?"
"How could you keep this from me?" Oriana exclaimed, shooting up from the chair and crossing her arms irritably.
"I…" Miranda looked puzzled, "Wait, what?"
James tapped Shepard on the shoulder, "Hey, can I be your best man?"
"Are you kidding?" Cortez interrupted.
"Why not?" James shot Cortez a look before turning back to Shepard, "Lola, you can't have a turian as your best man."
"Why can't she?" Cortez interjected, "Besides, I'm sure Joker's ahead of you on the list anyway."
James cracked his knuckles, "Moreau and Vakarian, eh? You think that's my competition?"
"Cortez, Vega…" Shepard growled warningly.
"I mean sure, the baby is a big deal, but crazy stuff like that happens to you and Shepard all the time," Oriana was insisting.
Miranda was at a loss, "Meaning?"
"Come on, Miri, it isn't every day you two do something normal like get engaged!"
Leaving the two pairs to bicker, Shepard headed into the other room and sat down on the floor. Cradling the still squalling child between her legs, she activated her omni-tool.
"Shh, Henry," she cooed, "You know what I used to do when I was upset out at the ends of the galaxy?"
Turning to the projector, she said more loudly, "Do you have a minute, Miranda?"
Sure enough, Henry paused in his bawling to watch the lights spring to life, and take form.
"Of course. What can I do for you, Commander?"
Tentatively, he reached out a pudgy arm near the projector's base, blocking out the holo's right side. The intercepted photons glowed on his palm.
"Hey!" Shepard heard a voice from behind her and shot James a murderous look
"Hey," he said more softly, "is that the Miranda VI?"
"Why does James know about it?" Miranda groaned, coming into the room behind him along with Cortez and Oriana.
"Miranda VI and I talk all the time," James insisted.
Miranda's expression was skeptical, "About what?"
James turned back to the flickering holo, "Hey Miranda VI, what's a billabong?"
"Billabong is a nineteenth-century Australian-Earth colloquialism referring to a pond formed in the wake of a diverted river," the VI recited, "Also, something I will throw you into the next time I catch you flirting with my sister."
"See," James said proudly, nudging Oriana with his elbow, "I told you I had it from a reliable source."
"You think that's harsh," Shepard interjected, "Miranda VI, will you marry me?"
The holo frowned, crossing her arms, "There's a lot to do, Shepard…"
"Wow," Cortez whistled, "She's as arbitrarily belligerent as the Shepard VI. Have the two of them ever met?"
Shepard coughed, "They… don't get along…"
"Hello, Miranda VI," Oriana tried.
The VI's expression softened, "Hello, Ori," it said warmly.
"Oh god," Miranda buried her face in her hand.
"Like I said," James muttered under his breath, squatting down beside his CO, "spot. on."
"First thing's first," Miranda announced, "All weapons in the gun closet."
"You two have a gun closet?" James chuckled, "You guys are such dorks…"
He and Cortez made their way over to stow their sidearms.
"Holiday afterparty it is," he was conceding as they stepped back out into the living room.
"Good," Cortez nodded, "That way people still have Christmas to spend with their families."
James glanced up from the guest list he was already compiling, "Crew is family, Esteban. Always will be."
"Sure," Cortez agreed, "But there's gonna be other families now too…"
They glanced over at the table, where Shepard and Miranda sat with Henry beside them in his high-chair, speaking in low tones.
"James, will you help me with the cookies?" Oriana called from the kitchen.
"I'll help," Miranda replied automatically.
James shook his head, already headed for the kitchen, "No thanks Sheila, I've heard you bake like Lola dances. Esteban can help though."
Cortez amiably followed him into the kitchen. Settling back into her seat, Miranda sulked.
But she found that ill-feelings seemed to dissolve into nothing in this atmosphere. There was holiday music on autoplay, punctuated by James and Oriana occasionally breaking into live accompaniment, and the smell of cookies in the air. It wasn't remotely nostalgic, not for her anyway. But it still felt warm, if in a novel sort of way.
Shepard, meanwhile, was fussing with the settings for the window emulators, with Henry providing occasional input on the colorful interface.
"This thing has to have snow," she insisted, scrolling through the options, "It has settings for water rain, ammonia rain, a variety of ambient gasses, up to three suns… dammit, on what planet can we not get snow for Christmas?"
"Well," Miranda replied, "Australia, for one."
"Really?" Shepard paused, lowering the interface to give her a confused look, "Right, hemispheres… in that case, should I turn on the three sun setting instead?"
Miranda dismissed the interface with a wave of her hand, "I want to talk about Henry. In a few years he'll need to start school, and the closest schools for children his age are on Elysium."
"So we'll get a place on Elysium, preferably one with plenty of guestrooms," Shepard said, "And then you'll commute up here and I'll commute… wherever."
"Shepard, I have no intention of raising this child with the Normandy's vidcomm," Miranda gave her a pointed look, "You need a more permanent assignment."
Shepard nodded firmly, "I'll talk to Hackett. If he doesn't like it, I'll quit and become a stay at home spectre."
Miranda blinked. That had been surprisingly easy.
"I don't think I'll ever understand your relationship with your job," she remarked, shaking her head, "When it was soul-wrenching and life-threatening you wouldn't have given it up for anything. Now that it's cushy and safe you always seem to be on the verge of quitting."
"Anyone can go around the galaxy attending parties and taking down the occasional space pirate. Right now, the things that only I can do are here," Shepard said, "So yeah, I'd quit, quite literally at the drop of a hat."
She reached under the table and produced the cartoonish biotiball cap, setting it proudly on her head.
"That thing is offensive," Miranda scowled, pushing it down over Shepard's face, "It's no wonder you got it from Jack."
"You know I'm not exactly sure where my real one got to," Shepard mused, "Maybe I'll just wear this one back to work instead."
"Oh good. Then they'll be sure to fire you long before you make good on those empty threats to quit," Miranda quipped.
"Speaking of hats…"
They glanced up to see James looming nearby, his hands behind his back.
"You know, I was reading somewhere that in Australia they celebrate Christmas by wearing silly hats. Did you know that, boss?" he said.
"No James, I didn't know that," Shepard replied, arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair, green eyes glinting in a distinctly Kasumi-like way under the still lowered brim of her hat.
Miranda scoffed, "Not in my family we don't."
"Oh really?"
Oriana appeared next to James. There was a blue paper crown set atop her head. Slowly, James' hands emerged from behind his back, a purple crown set in his palm, which he reverently balanced on his mohawk. Cortez came up beside him with a chuckle, setting a green crown on his head in a far less dramatic fashion.
"Alright Henry, how about red for Grissom?" Oriana suggested, presenting the child with a crown of his own, which he immediately pulled from his head and attempted to eat.
"Maybe I'll take that one," Shepard interjected, gently extricating the now misshapen and slightly damp crown from his hands, "Here, you can have mine."
She set the Admiral's cap on his head, and he showed his approval by immediately putting that in his mouth as well.
"Well Miri, that leaves just one more…" Oriana said, holding out the final golden crown.
She and James were standing far too close together, with Cortez nearby, a warm smile on his face. Shepard was grinning too, under a mangled piece of red paper that was roughly a crown. And little Henry was in the center of them all, industriously attempting to destroy his mother's gaudy cap, an act of which his other mother could not but approve.
Miranda sighed. With more dignity than should have been attainable under the circumstances, she reached out, and took the hat.
A/N- And here we find ourselves at the end. Bet you didn't think we were gonna make it for a minute (several months) there...
Anyway, we're actually at the one year anniversary of this fic, so I was motivated to shoot for today. Thank you sincerely to everyone who read and reviewed along the way. You are the only reason this ever wrapped up, and I truly treasured each and every word you took the time to write. And if you haven't already, well...this fic is proof positive that it's never too late :)
Until next time,
JP