Thanks for all the support, guys! Glad to know y'all are still enjoying this fic. I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, so hopefully I don't ruin everything with shitty writing or crappy thought processes.
Shepard's hair was a fan of maroon silk against the pillow in the dim bedroom. It had grown out lately and needed to be trimmed to its normal length just below her ears. Liara reached over and brushed a few strands from her lover's closed eyes, but she did not stir. Folding a leg under her body, Liara sat next to her and watched, running her fingers through her hair. The medications she had taken earlier had a sedative effect, and Shepard would sleep heavily for the next several hours. A small stream of drool escaped her slightly parted lips, her face slack with relaxation.
She thought to wake the commander up, but Liara dismissed the idea. The cabin was remote, even more so with transportation still crippled by the war. Even if Miranda ordered a shuttle to pick her up that very moment, it would take at least twelve hours for it to reach them. She could not leave no matter how much she wished to. So Shepard could sleep, at least until dawn. It gave Liara time to think.
She shifted through the information, her thoughts and feelings, the revelation and memories. As Shadow Broker she gathered every source of data she could, constantly analyzing and computing, figuring out how each piece fit with another until she had a whole picture. This was different. It wasn't data streams and information in clear, concise lines, but a foggy muddle of subjective feeling. Not even Glyph could have made sense of it.
Miranda loved Shepard.
Through the meld, she had felt the overwhelming swell of adoration as surely as it was her own. It was not surprising that someone besides herself would love Shepard; everyone loved Shepard. After a while of meticulous contemplation, it did not surprise her that someone besides herself could be in love with Shepard. Though she had never considered the possibility before, it made sense. One of the commander's great powers was the love and loyalty she managed to inspire in those around her.
What stunned her more was that it was Miranda that was in love with her bondmate. Samantha Traynor, the communications specialist aboard the Normandy, had been painfully obvious about it, as had Lt. Alenko before his death. Liara could see Tali potentially having an infatuation with her; the Quarian always had a severe case of hero worship with the commander. But Miranda had always been the portrait of poise and professionalism.
Miranda Lawson, the former Cerberus Operative, the perfect woman. Love was irrational and chaotic, unpredictable. All the things that Miranda detested. She was a woman of calculation and reserve, using logic to dictate her actions and reason to govern her thoughts. She had painstakingly erected walls that separated her from everyone else; she was ruthlessly deliberate. When they had first met, so many years ago, Liara had thought she had earned her title of ice queen well.
The edges had definitely softened since then. Miranda had allowed people into her life, saw them more as pawns or variables now. Her smile, while reserved only for those closest to her, was no longer a cruel line but genuine. But she was still Miranda Lawson, controlled and cautious. Love was reckless.
Of course it was Shepard. It was she who softened those sharp edges. Liara allowed a few locks of Shepard's hair to slip between her blue fingers, the echo of her own words writhing to the forefront of her memory.
"You have no idea how much you've changed her." Liara had said, long ago.
Shepard had not known, not then, and neither had Liara known the truth of her own words.
The commander whimpered in her sleep and rolled onto her side abruptly facing the asari, curling in on herself. Liara scooted closer and propped herself against the headboard with her pillow. With the pad of her thumb, she rubbed slow circles on the sleeping woman's temple, reassuring her until her breathing slowed to normal.
She had done the same thing in the long weeks after the war before the commander had regained consciousness. Try to reassure her through touch, caressing whatever uninjured skin she could to assure her of her presence, to coax her back to living. Miranda had been there then, and now Liara revisited the memory with fresh comprehension.
"You should rest," Miranda had said, ticking off the list of the commander's vitals as she did every hour. Slender fingers had checked each bag dangling from the IV tree, adjusting the amount of fluid dripping from the tubes into Shepard's arms. "You're exhausted."
Liara's eyes were stinging and dry, and she had to blink several times for Miranda's face to come into focus. "I won't leave her. I want to be here when she wakes up." Liara had said 'when,' even though at the time it had still been a large if. And she had watched Miranda avert her eyes back down to the unconscious, wounded woman. Those slender, delicate fingers that had the power to kill without mercy, had gingerly brushed Shepard's uninjured cheek.
Shepard and Miranda had been close. But now Liara knew that the touch had not been that of a colleague or friend. It had been a gesture of love, of yearning. While Liara was free to express herself, to weep for her broken, shattered lover, to curse the unfairness of it, to reach out and touch Shepard to console herself that she was still alive, if only barely. Miranda had not been. She had been trapped, all of her feelings caged behind a perfect façade.
In retrospect, Liara was impressed. It had never dawned on her then that Miranda's torment was identical to her own. She was always so careful, so certain. She had withdrawn her hand and crossed the small room to drag another chair next to Liara's, next to the hospital bed. She had sat beside her and placed her hand over Liara's, which rested on the small part of uncharred, unbandaged flesh that was Shepard's wrist.
"She will wake up, Liara." Miranda had whispered with conviction. "She'll come back to you. I do good work, and Shepard's a fighter."
"I know if anyone can give her back to me, it's you, Miss Lawson." Liara had whispered. How much had that statement stung the perfect woman? How sharp of a barb had that been, regardless of how innocently it had been stated?
Miranda hadn't responded right away, her eyes following the asari's to Shepard's face, to the mass of bandages and tubes and exposed flesh and glowing cybernetic implants. The left side of her face bore the brunt of the damage. "She'll be okay." She had said finally, promising the woman she loved to another without a hint of reluctance.
Nothing remained but a small lattice of nearly imperceptible scars where had been tubes and skin grafts. Liara kissed Shepard's cheek and wiggled under the covers, pressing her front to her lover's back, kissing her bare shoulder. Did Shepard know or suspect? No. She would have told her, the asari decided. There were never any secrets. The very nature of their relationship demanded total honesty, constant communication. The fact that neither knew nor even suspected was a testament to Miranda's iron cold determination and restraint.
Liara mulled over her feelings again, sifting through them and identifying each. Astonishment was the first for reasons she had already identified. A pang below her breast that was not pity or sympathy but empathy; she felt the cruelty of Miranda's adoration for the commander as well as her determination that neither she nor Liara would ever find out. It was one of the few genuinely selfless things Liara had witnessed from Miranda, and she respected her for it.
Conspicuously absent, Liara noticed, were any feelings of jealousy or territoriality. Her faith in Shepard's love for her was unshakable. It had been shared and felt over hundreds of joinings as firm a conviction as any fact. No person could change it. Perhaps because she had already shared her lover with an entire galaxy, but the love of another woman was not threatening. Liara wrapped an arm around the commander's waist and pulled her closer, dozing until the early hours of dawn.
Years of military experience woke Shepard as dawn broke over the mountains. Pale morning light had just begun to slip through the curtains. The regularity of her internal clock rarely allowed her to sleep in. She opened one eye first, then the other, and stretched her arms over her head. Liara's arm was around her middle, and she felt the asari shift.
"Good morning, my love." Shepard settled back into the bed and pulled Liara's arm around her, pulling her closer and yawning. The benefit of waking early was the snuggling. Although no one would believe it if she told them. Commander Shepard. Savior of the Galaxy. Killer of the Reapers. Snuggler.
"Good morning, Commander." Wiggling closer, Liara kissed the back of Shepard's neck. "We need to talk," Liara murmured against her skin.
"Talk? We just woke up" Shepard grinned and blindly reached behind her, squeezed the asari's backside. "Mmm… Let's not talk." Her hand explored further.
"Shepard, no. We need to talk." Liara said flatly and pulled away.
Puzzled, Shepard rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow to gaze down at her lover. The asari's voice had been frighteningly serious, and it was unlike her to so flatly rebuff her without explanation. Liara's expression was severe, her lips pressed into a thin line. Shepard's brows shot up in concern. "What's wrong?"
Liara's expression softened when she saw the worry in Shepard's eyes, and she quickly covered her face with both hands. "Nothing…" Her voice was muffled under her hands. "Well, I do not know."
Gently, Shepard tugged Liara's hands from her face so she could kiss her chastely on the lips and smiled. "You can tell me. Whatever it is."
Nodding slowly, the asari inhaled deeply and began a long exhale. "Miranda is in love with you."
"What?" Shepard laughed at the incredulity of it, but Liara's expression did not crack. "What?" She repeated.
"Miranda is in love with you and has been with some time."
"No way. She… she's my best friend." Though it was a poor approximation for what the former Cerberus operative was. It implied they gossiped over meals or had 'girl's night' or went shopping or something similarly asinine. Not survived multiple attempts to save the galaxy together. Shepard flopped down on to her back, studying the ceiling, protesting though she knew Liara would never make such an accusation unless she was certain. But she still could not force herself to wrap her mind around it. "She was my executive officer. I would have known."
"Have you ever known anything that Miranda did not let you know about herself?" Liara pointed out, which was true to some extent. Miranda was one of the singularly most closed off human beings Shepard had ever met. "I joined with her Shepard. It must have been confusing with my feelings present. She must have mistaken her own feelings for mine and… slipped. She never intended for you, or for me to know."
"Oh, shit!" Shepard threw the covers off of herself. "She knows? She knows that you know?" She reached for her cane, cursed again when she fumbled and it clattered to the ground. Liara stilled her by placing a hand on her arm, and she stopped and looked over her shoulder at her lover.
"What will you tell her, Shepard?"
"I…" Shepard did not know what she would say to the perfect woman. That was not important. She had to do something, say something to make everything okay. "She will run. I… we know her, Liara. She'll run, and god knows if we'll ever see her again." How many people had the war taken from her? Stolen in an arching beam of light or in a pool of blood. Too many. It was stupid to lose one more for such an asinine reason. She understood why Joker no longer wanted to talk to her, but losing Miranda would be unbearable.
"Do you love her?" Liara asked simply, without accusation. There was no fear, no hesitation in her eyes, just honest curiosity. She might has well have been asking if the sky on Earth was blue.
"I love you!" Shepard swung her legs back into bed and crushed her lips against Liara's as if trying to convince her of the truth of the statement.
Liara returned the kiss with equal fervor. "I know you do." She smiled. "Embrace eternity?" It was a question, a request, and Shepard nodded. Blue eyes faded to black, and they became singular. "Trust me, my love. Do you love her?"
The answer of course was yes. Besides Garrus, there was no other person she trusted as much as Miranda. (Besides Liara of course.) But love was tricky. She loved many people. It was easy to hate. When first meeting a person, it was easy to make a snap judgment about them, decide that they were too arrogant, too callous, too cruel, too dumb. But once the story behind the person was known, it was not easier to like them, but harder to dislike them.
And upon first meeting Miranda Lawson, she had not expected to actually like her. Their relationship from the beginning had been strained, due in no small part to her executive officer's resentment of her. But Shepard refused to be baited, knowing that the basis for Miranda's disdain in all likelihood did not actually have much to do with who Shepard was, but perhaps what she symbolized.
It was hard to disregard the "perfect woman." For all her arrogance, she was extremely proficient on the battlefield. And it was clear that her superior intelligence could be applied to tactics and strategy as well as science. Yet when it came to other people, she was clinical and detached.
That was the reason she had encouraged Miranda to speak with her sister on Illium. Oriana had been the only person that Miranda seemed to hold dear, to cherish. She was the only person that somehow wheedled her way past the Cerberus operative's self-imposed isolation.
And once Shepard saw Oriana, she immediately understood why. Oriana was more than just a younger sister, but proof to Miranda of what she could have been had it not been for her father. Oriana was a pretty young woman, with a ready smile and selfless ambitions, according to Miranda. She had opportunities, family, affection… all the things that Miranda never had. In her, Miranda saw a version of herself, innocent and loved, what might have been were it not for the manipulation and abuse of a tyrant.
Despite what the Cerberus operative might claim to the contrary, despite the proud mask she presented to the world, Miranda was human. And Shepard felt particularly honored by being allowed to see the woman underneath the Cerberus insignia, beneath the biotic shields.
Miranda was many things that Shepard wasn't. But over time, those differences began to melt away, and Shepard began to see the similarities. Where before she saw only clinical ruthlessness, Shepard now saw past the barriers Miranda had so meticulously erected around herself. She saw a woman who immersed herself so thoroughly in her cause that she was willing to sacrifice the very thing she was supposedly fighting for. Her humanity.
The change was gradual, so gradual that at first Shepard barely noticed it, like the first of the spring snow to melt, barely detectable. They no longer argued, or rather, Miranda no longer argued with her. They did not always agree, but when those moments came, Shepard saw the other woman defer to her command, as if she trusted her. Their conversations were no longer spoken in clipped words restricted to missions and operations. There were moments when they smiled, when Miranda let a dry remark slip past her professionalism, when Shepard caught her gaze and was helpless but to grin.
It was Liara who brought her attention to the change. After the Shadow Broker, the yahg, had been dealt with, after the once shy asari maiden assumed the mantle of the most powerful information broker in the galaxy, she had joined Shepard in her quarters after a tour of the new Normandy. Liara had been the one to hand over Shepard's body to Cerberus, to Miranda. Shepard could not help but feel a pang of guilt whenever she thought of her Liara carrying her corpse to Cerberus.
Over the meld, she felt Liara's presence, following her thoughts. At the surge of guilt, she exuded comfort and understanding. It hadn't been Shepard's fault; no burden would have been too heavy for Liara if it had meant Shepard would return to her. When the stab of guilt had dulled, Liara silently urged Shepard back to the memory.
"So tell me, Shepard," Liara had asked, going to the port window to gaze out the stars. "What are you fighting for?" She paused, but not long enough for Shepard to reply. "The future of humanity, as evidenced by the perfect Miss Lawson?"
The question had thrown Shepard off balance, and she chewed on the inside of her cheek as she sat on the edge of her bed, watching Liara's back. "She has her issues, but she trusts me. And I care about her." She answered with truth, facts. Miranda did trust her, that much was clear now. Ever since she had helped protect Oriana, the constant struggle for power and command had been considerably less tiresome. And she did care about Miranda; but at the time, all Shepard could do was watch Liara. Her Liara.
She traced the outline of the asari's silhouette with her eyes. It had been sometime since they had been together, even longer for Liara. But neither death nor time had altered her feelings for her. Liara had changed, but she was the same woman Shepard had fallen in love with, only stronger, more determined. An undulation of pride welled in her chest and stuck in her throat.
"I remember when I first met her. She was so cold, so detached." Liara almost seemed wistful recalling her first meeting with the Cerberus operative, when she had handed over the remains of Shepard's body to the organization. Shepard pushed the image from her mind, the image of Liara carrying her charred remains to Miranda. It was unsettling to think of herself as dead, as nothing more than savaged, inanimate flesh.
"I don't think she's changed that much." Shepard had replied instead.
"You have no idea how much you've changed her." Liara had slowly turned from the shifting twinkle of the distant stars, the steady glow of planets, and her words hit Shepard like a krogan charge.
Back in the present, the commander sucked in a shaky breath, but Liara was already guiding her down the path of another memory, one more recent.
Miranda collapsing after she had killed her father with a savage wave of biotics. Shepard darting to her side and scooping the smaller woman in her arms, supporting her head with one hand, the other checking her for bleeding. Kai Leng had brutally beaten the perfect woman. Fear was acrid in the back of her throat. Mordin was dead. She could not lose Miranda as well. Mentally, she pleaded with whatever merciful power in the universe that would listen that she would be okay. Tears springing into her eyes with relief as Miranda smiled and reassured her.
The memories came quickly, spilling over into Shepard and Liara's single consciousness.
Miranda had leveled her sidearm at Niket, to set things right, to avenge the betrayal, Shepard had stopped her. The commander had placed a hand on her upper arm and forearm and brought the pistol up, ruining her line of shot. "Miranda, wait! You don't want to do this." Green eyes met her own indigo blue, almost as if she were pleading with Miranda.
She had no doubt that Miranda could live with shooting Niket, with killing her only childhood friend. If it meant Oriana's security, she would live with the memory, the guilt. But Shepard wanted to ensure that she would not have to.
"Shepard, don't try to move." But Shepard had opened her eyes, and met those that were blue. She realized that the bland description of "blue" was woefully insufficient. They were indeed blue, but pale, like blue diamonds or ocean shallows. Like crystalline fire, blazing in intensity as they gazed down. Shepard reached for her, extending a trembling hand towards her face. Miranda responded in an instant, taking it gently in her own, as not to mar the still fragile skin grafts, and lowered it back to the table. "Just lie still. Try to stay calm." She said in an even, reassuring tone, and Shepard closed her eyes again.
Two sets of blue eyes that met hers, one lighter than the other, both hopeful. Reflexively, she batted weakly at the tubes in her nose, down her throat, suffocating her. A blue hand stopped her. "It's okay, Shepard." Liara's voice was choked with tears. "You're okay. The Reapers are gone, and you're going to be alright. I love you. I'm here."
"Glad you could join us, Commander." Miranda's voice was equally constricted, and Shepard moved her face as much as the tubes would allow to see Liara's free hand clasping Miranda's on the bed beside her.
Miranda's comforting presence at her back as the crept through the unnerving hive corridors of the Collector base.
Her outstretched hand reaching as Shepard made a desperate, hopeless leap for the Normandy, fingers wrapping around her wrist, yanking her aboard.
At her desk, pale light from the terminal cast onto her face, brow furrowed in concentration, preoccupied.
Laughter. Genuine and melodious. The most honest sound she had ever heard from the operative.
Blue eyes. Raven black hair that hung in perfect tendrils and waves. Breasts pushed up yet cleavage hidden by her Cerberus uniform. The curve of her hip, the arc of her ass. The click of her heels. Her smile.
The pale blue vortex of biotics. Miranda in boxers and a ponytail, barefoot, with a sidearm trained on her, Liara beside her with one hand on the back of her neck.
Then it all stopped, each memory snapping into place like an elaborate puzzle that had been missing the key element.
It had always been Liara. From the moment she first met the asari, Shepard had been fascinated, and later riveted, and still later, in love. Shepard had never been the foolishly romantic type; lovers came and went, but with Liara it was different. Even at the beginning it had been different. They were more than a balance to each other. Liara kept Shepard grounded, kept her focused, kept her honest.
Even when Liara was not with her, she was what Shepard thought about. She made frequent trips to Ilium, and later to the Shadow Broker's lair, to reassure herself with Liara's presence. The holo on her desk was a poor substitution for the asari, but Shepard gazed at it every night and morning. It was as if the initial phase of the relationship, the infatuation and obsession, had never worn off. They were together. They were meant to be together.
There was a lot to doubt over the past years. Survival was questionable. But she had never doubted her dedication to Liara.
But it had left little room for anything else. She failed to see what was right in front of her for years. She had been so preoccupied with Liara, that any other feelings were stashed aside as unimportant, ignored. Of course she loved Miranda. She was one of her dearest friends. But as every moment flooded back to her, scrutinized with renewed understanding, it became clear.
Like an object squirreled away in a drawer for examination at a later time and then forgotten about, only to be found ages later.
Miranda had always been there, in a different way. With Liara, everything had been so easy, so natural. With Miranda, it had been gradual. Yet, it was still there. Miranda was not perfect; she was far from it. But underneath the façade of cold stoicism was a beautiful, brilliant woman that was not nearly as hard as she would like the galaxy to believe. And it was that spark of humanity, the pieces of herself that Miranda had endeavored to hide from the rest of the world, that Shepard loved.
"I love you, Liara!" Shepard insisted aloud, plaintively. Liara had to know that; she had to know. They had shared minds, hearts. Liara must know that. A part of her panicked, terrified that the asari would feel these conflicting emotions and pull away, leave her.
The asari merely smiled patiently and placed her hand over the commander's heart. "I know you do. And I love you." Their lips met for a long, languid kiss. All of Liara's love and affection and reassurance poured into it, wrapping the both of them in a soothing cloud of emotion. "What you feel for Miranda does not lessen or change what we have.
"But it has always been you, my love. I choose you." Shepard whispered, feeling no shame in the tear that escaped the corner of her eye.
"Why?"
"Why? Because I love you! Because, you're—"
"No. Why choose?"
Shepard opened her mouth open to reply, but found that she could not. She chose because the other option was not choosing. Social norms dictated two individuals in a relationship, dedicated to one another. But given how social norms viewed collars and dominance and submission invalidated that particular argument.
Over the meld, Liara heard (or sensed) Shepard's internal debate with herself. "It is not uncommon on Thessia for relationships to exist in which there are more than two partners. While it is not the norm, neither is it met with disapproval."
"You're not angry or jealous?"
"Why would I be? I know that you love me, Shepard. You know that I love you." There were times when Liara seemed so much wiser than her hundred odd years. "Nothing can ever change that. We are bound, forever."
Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, Shepard remained silent. This was too much, too soon, and not how she intended on waking up this morning. She felt overwhelmed. First, with the revelation that Miranda was in love with her. Second, with the revelation that she was in love with Miranda. Third, that her lover was suggesting that a relationship with "more than two partners" was an option.
"Liara!" Shepard lifted her hands and dropped them to the bed in frustration. "What the hell. I don't… I don't know what I want. Would you be okay with that?" She tugged away from the meld without breaking the connection completely. She needed to think. She needed clarity. And a cup of coffee.
"I… I don't know, Shepard. I care for Miranda, deeply." Liara kept her hand over Shepard's heart. "I am not jealous. Nor do I feel threatened. The past several weeks have been very… enjoyable. With her here." They had been. Miranda had assimilated seamlessly into their lives, as if she had always been with them. "But she won't remain here unless you speak with her. Tell her the truth."
"Do you want me to? Or do you want me to because you think it will make me happy?" Shepard rolled over onto her side again to face the asari. She felt Liara nudge at the edges of her consciousness, urging her to accept the full meld again, and she did.
Acceptance, not resignation, washed over her like a breeze. There was no envy, no malice, just warmth and understanding. Emotions, like unseen colors, swept through their shared mind. There was concern as well, not simply for Shepard, but for Miranda as well, apprehension at the conflict between the two human women. And, right beside her glowing love for Shepard, like a small ball of light, was Liara's affection for Miranda, and the fear that they might lose the raven-haired woman from their lives.
Miranda had not slept when gray light streamed through her window. The drawers of the dresser had been cleaned out, her clothes carefully folded and packed into suitcases. She had not contacted the shuttle yet, but it could wait until later. It would take ages for it to reach the cabin, so she would be forced to speak with the commander anyway in all likelihood. That is, if Shepard could face her.
How had she been so stupid? She should have never joined with Liara. It was a stupid mistake. She was supposed to be brilliant, bloody perfect. Yet she had made such an obvious blunder. She should have known that her feelings would betray her, known that Liara's feelings would coax her own to the surface.
As it was, she could still feel the ghost of Shepard's hand touching her cheek, thumb caressing her lips, and knew it would only ever be that: a ghost of a caress meant for another woman. The truth of it made it difficult to breathe, her heart constricted in pain that felt physical. Miranda struggled to shove the feeling down, to suppress it.
She was Miranda Lawson.
Brilliance, beauty, skill, talent were etched into every gene. And it used to be that simple. Every decision was made objectively weighing her options, all possible outcomes, the costs versus the benefits. Everything was a challenge, a problem to be solved. Cerberus gave her a goal: ensure humanity's survival. They had given her the means to accomplish the mission. How she did so was her discretion.
When it came to the welfare and benefit of humanity, the cost was almost always worth it. People were assets, just like anything else. Credits, weapons, knowledge, people… each could be weighed in worth. Shepard was worth at least four billion credits, according to Cerberus financial reports. Emotion clouded judgment, muddied the waters of decision. It had no basis in fact, no bearing on reality. Feelings were an excuse the weak relied on to eschew the responsibility of hard decisions.
It had been easier when Shepard had simply been Project Lazarus. She could regard her with a surgeon's coldness. She was a datapad of readouts, of vital statistics, of past and future procedures. She was an experiment to be manipulated, painstakingly manufactured into existence. She was simply a series of calculations and measurements. Every detail was distinct from the whole, separate from what would become a living, breathing woman.
When she had been Project Lazarus, she had been a pleasurable challenge, a trial that tested all of Miranda's skills and intelligence. When she became Shepard, everything changed. Miranda changed.
There were days when she cursed the change within herself, cursed Shepard for making her into a better person. Shepard made her want to be a better person. She had never meant to fall in love with her.
The commander had something she did not. For all of her fancy enhanced genetics and upgrades, Miranda lacked one thing not even her father or Cerberus with their unlimited resources could give her. Shepard had that spark, that undeniable flare about her that made men and woman willingly to follow her to whatever ends, into the gates of hell and back.
Where Miranda was ice and clinical deliberations, Shepard was fire and passion.
With her undeniable allure and infallible sense of honor, she inspired a sort of loyalty and dedication that Miranda could never hope for. And it wasn't dedication to a mission or loyalty to any great cause that she inspired, but a dedication to herself. The people she assembled around her would not follow her because they were committed to the mission, but because they were committed to Shepard.
As much she had believed in the mission, as much as she had believed herself committed to the advancement and protection of humanity, Miranda felt herself equally devoted to Commander Shepard and perhaps even some of the ideals she embodied. Somehow, the commander had melted away the things that Miranda once believed to be right, the things she believed about herself, and replaced them with something different, something more.
And because she wanted to be a better person, she buried her feelings as deep as possible, hid them away so the commander would never know, and later, so that Liara would never know. It would not be fair to either of them, and Miranda respected both women too much to interfere in their relationship, to even hint at her own personal agony.
Besides of which, she had her pride. She might have been in love with Shepard, but she knew that it could never be requited. Liara had always been the sole focus of the commander's attention, her affection. It had always been obvious. At first, Miranda had thought it was pathetic, the way Shepard was so obviously consumed by the asari, sentimental nonsense. But, that had changed along with all of her initial perceptions about the commander.
She would not needlessly expose herself to rejection, or worse, pity.
She promised herself long ago, that no matter the circumstance, Shepard would never know her feelings. But she also promised herself that her consolation would be that she would always be there for the woman, whenever Shepard needed her, she would be there. It might have not been the way she wanted, but at least she could be a part of Shepard's life. For a long time, it was enough.
When she had locked the door behind her, Miranda had been mortified. Liara knew, and god only knew what she thought of her. Did she think she was pathetic, pining over a woman she could never have? Did she pity her? Or worse, did she think that Miranda was simply biding her time, pretending to be a good friend to them both until she could make her move on Shepard? She could not bear it if Liara, if the commander thought less of her. Before Shepard, Miranda would have scoffed at the notion she needed anyone's approval.
Then the initial horror of being found out had passed and Miranda had sobbed aloud. Dry, tearless sobs that doubled her over, that robbed her of breath. They were the tears of an adult, one that knew loss was permanent. She had not cried like that since she had escaped her father. One she knew, Liara would certainly tell Shepard. And the commander would never rely on her the same way, never regard her the same way. Every word, every touch, no matter how innocent, would be suspect. She had lost the one piece of Shepard that she had possessed: her trust. It was irrevocably gone.
The commander was noble, good to the tips of her (perfectly reconstructed) toes. She would insist that nothing changed, yet in the back of her mind there would always be a little nag of doubt, of uncertainty. Miranda would spare her that lie; she would leave. Perhaps go to Sill, help Ori with the rebuilding effort. Her sister would have suspicions, questions. But she would rather questions than the gleam of pity in Shepard's eyes.
The rap on the door steeled Miranda's resolve. Swallowing the last of her tears, she stood to unlock the door and to confront the woman she loved for the last time.
So. *ahem* Let me know what you think because I'm not utterly confident in it.