A/N: I found a megaphone in my house yesterday. Best...day...EVER! That is all. Oh, except, thanks for every follow, favorite, review. :)

"C'mon. C'mon, c'mon, come on!" Shepard crossed behind Miranda's desk and started tugging on her arm.

"Shepard!" She pulled her arm back and raised an eyebrow. "Do you mind?"

"Not even a little. Let's go! Plaguers is waiting!"

"Sit down and wait for five seconds." Miranda pointed to the chair, moving her arm out of the way of Shepard's grip again.

"Oh fine." She circled back around and flopped in the seat.

"How did your talk with—"

"It's been five seconds."

Miranda cast her a glare that didn't seem to deter her in the slightest.

Shepard grinned. "Not bad. Says she still kinda' wants to kill everyone she sees, but you know…kinda' is better than always."

"Can we count on her to do her job?"

Shepard rubbed at her cheek. "I think so. I think…yeah." She finally nodded. "Yeah, she will."

Miranda continued tapping at the haptic interface keys. Fade. Difficult man to pin down. She couldn't figure out if the man her contact knew of was the actual Fade, or if it was a cover for the real one. "That's a relief." Her eyes flicked up to observe Shepard for a brief moment. "Has Chakwas found anything for your scars yet?"

Shepard grunted slightly and gave a noncommittal shrug.

"She's had quite some time. She's a brilliant woman, I don't see why not."

"I've been having her do a little research on the neural degeneration of Jack," Shepard finally said, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Why didn't you say so? I could have been helping."

"You do enough. Chakwas can handle it." Shepard pointed to her face. "Plus, this ups my bad-ass points, too."

"It ups your you-poke-at-things-you-shouldn't points, as well." Miranda grinned and shook her head before propping her elbows on the desk and resting her chin on her fists.

"Ah." Shepard waved her words off. "I already had those."

"Indeed," Miranda said. She hummed slightly as she closed out of her message and stood.

"Yes! Plaguers!"

"Wait." Miranda wrung her hands together slightly, stopping Shepard on her way to the door. "Before we do, I have something to say."

Shepard tilted her head. "Uh…okay."

Miranda paced to the window and rested a hand on her hip, staring out at the stars and wisps of blue flicking past. "I…I wanted to apologize. When we started…I wasn't sure you'd be fully up to this task."

"You don't say," Shepard sighed out, pulling up next to her. She rolled her head so she was looking at her and grinned.

"Oh, shut up." Miranda pushed her. "I'm relieved to say I was wrong."

"Me too." Shepard clasped her hands in front of her and straightened. "Even though you were so nice to me when we first really talked. What did you say?" Her face screwed in concentration for an absolute butchering of Miranda's accent. " 'We have a mission. We can either talk about it, or do it.' "

"Okay, one." Miranda held up a finger. "That was a terrible imitation of my accent."

"Can't blame me for trying! It's just so…" Shepard trailed off, lips twitching upward.

"And two…that was a terrible imitation of my accent." Miranda folded her arms and stared down at the white of her uniform covering them. Now that she thought about it…maybe Shepard was right. The hexagon pattern was…maybe not absurd, but…something. "Perhaps if Cerberus had found you or…people like you sooner…well." She heaved a sigh, not wanting to admit what she'd been thinking. "Maybe things like Teltin wouldn't have happened."

"What happened to Needledick being our savior sinning saint?"

"Call him what you like, but he did insist we bring you back. Terrible vid tastes included."

Shepard nodded, squinting out the window. "That's true," she said quietly. She turned and leaned against the wall with her side. "You guys put a lot of credits into me. That whole…bringing me back…and the Normandy." Her eyes traveled upward and searched the ceiling. For what, Miranda was uncertain. "My dads would have shit themselves if someone had told them I'd be who I am now, back then."

"And that," Miranda said quietly.

"Hm?" Shepard raised an eyebrow. "And what?"

"Just…you." Miranda turned and walked a few steps away, hugging her arms closer to her torso. "I mean…look at you. You were just a colony kid, growing up in a simple pre-fab unit…losing even that when batarian slavers attacked your home…" She gave the opposite wall a wry smile. "After everything my father did to make me…perfect. Best genes, best education, best training…" Training being a relative term when it came to his business…techniques. "I guess it wasn't enough. You're still the best humanity has to offer."

She heard Shepard shift slightly behind her. "Your genetic tailoring really bothers you a lot, doesn't it?"

"It's everything. Any time I look in a mirror, or use my biotics, or manage to see a pattern others miss…he paid for all of that." She ran her hand lightly across her brow. "He is responsible for my successes. The only things I can take credit for are my mistakes."

"Last time I checked, you brought me back, not him. It's not him out there in the field tearing mercs and Collectors to pieces." Shepard's voice pulled closer, but lowered in volume. "It's you. And it's not him standing in front of me right now."

Miranda turned, again somewhat dumbfounded by how much insight the woman had. It was turning out to be quite the day—Shepard making sense twice within the space of a few hours. She didn't quite realize Shepard had reached out and taken her hands until she glanced down. Damn gloves.

"So I guess…" Shepard's cheeks were flushing, her eyes resting on their hands. "You should probably tell me now if…I'm not allowed to call you beautiful or smart."

Miranda struggled to find her tongue and make it form words. "Oh? Well…perhaps I wouldn't mind…"

Shepard grinned and met her eyes again. "I could always revert back to bossy."

"If I recall correctly, you did refer to my breasts as magnificent once already."

"I was being a translator, if you recall correctly." The red on her cheeks deepened.

"Am I to believe the translator had no bias in relaying the message?" Miranda grinned, taking a step closer.

"Yes. I mean no. I mean…wait…what? Uh…" Shepard stopped and grinned. "I'm gonna' stop…digging that hole, now…" Her hand reached up and gently caressed Miranda's cheek.

Miranda tilted her face a fraction toward Shepard's palm, welcoming the contact. So many had demanded their own touch, been entitled to it…the concept that someone had, in a rather round-about way asked for it, was foreign. She reached her now-free hand up to slide her fingers along the scar on Shepard's jaw, mentally damning her gloves again. "Yes," she said quietly, "you're rather good at doing that, sometimes."

The small space between their bodies closed and Shepard rested her forehead against Miranda's. "I'm sure over time…I'll only get worse."

"Oh really?" Miranda asked, heart pounding. Had the room temperature spiked? "And why is that?"

"Because…I'm going to ask my XO if I can kiss her…and then drag her off to watch this really awesomely terrible vid."

The breath moving through Miranda's body stopped. Someone had just asked…Shepard had just asked, outright, if… She pulled the hand Shepard was still holding away and put it at the commander's waist, felt her freed hand rest safely on her back.

"You could always say it's for science, if it makes you feel bett—"

"Oh, shut up." And Miranda leaned her face forward the small distance, capturing Shepard's soft lips with her own. Shepard was a little clumsy—perhaps having something to do with being caught in the middle of a word—but tender…untainted by burning selfishness and greed she'd come to associate with a kiss. She pulled back only slightly, letting Shepard's hand that was at her cheek move to run through her hair.

"And I didn't even have to say I got shot in the ass," Shepard breathed out shakily. They were still close enough that their lips nearly touched as she spoke.

Miranda smiled. "You can't take yourself seriously for more than five minutes, can you?"

"It's a gift."

She finally untangled herself from the woman. "Now, about the second part of that…"

"Plaguers!" Shepard gave a jump. "You distracted me! How dare you?"

"Excuse me. Who distracted whom?"

"Come on!" Shepard reached forward and grabbed her hand.

"I'll be there in a moment, okay?" Miranda held back a giggle as she gently slid Shepard's fingers from her glove.

"Oh fine." Shepard started for the door.

/ / /

"Okay." Miranda peered around the corner from her door, making sure nobody else was out.

"Finally! Come on!" Shepard waved her over to the forward mess table frantically.

She stepped from behind the wall and wrinkled her nose as Shepard grinned at her sweatpants and sweatshirt. "What? I want to be comfortable while watching…what is it? Plague?"

"Plaguers."

"That's not even a real word."

Shepard raised her eyebrows and pointed to the projection of the portable vid player. "Oh. But it's right there."

"You're impossible," she said, taking a seat at the woman's left.

"Absolutely." Shepard smiled and hit play.

A gaudy arrangement of credits against a fake outer space backdrop played.

Miranda gave a light hum. "Monster FX did the makeup. Are there monsters?"

"I'm not telling."

"Wait…is this what you said you were going to show Tali'Zorah?"

"She fell asleep before I could put it in. I'm not entirely sure it was real sleep, though…I think she might have been faking…"

"Unkillable space zombies. Fantastic."

"That's the spirit!" Shepard leaned back in her seat contentedly.

It took an entire minute before Miranda had more to say. "What on earth is she wearing?"

"A vest!"

"A vest? Who wears vests? What terrible color coordination. Beige and royal blue. Who told her that was okay?"

"Probably the costuming department." Shepard choked back a laugh. "It's okay. It's just pretend."

"I should hope so. The way she's blubbering, I don't think anyone could feel sorry for her. She looks rather constipated." Miranda raised an eyebrow. "You really know how to pick them, don't you?"

"Don't worry. It gets better."

"And…what…is…that?"

"A green glowy orb of power."

"Oh yes. Of course. A green glowy orb of power. How didn't I guess that before?"

/ / /

"Yes. Go on the derelict ship and split up. Brilliant." Miranda was not impressed with the soundness of their tactical practices. "Nothing could possibly go wrong." Not to mention the impossibility of their 'breather' masks. A flimsy little plastic piece connected to a flimsy plastic hose that connected to nothing. And she was rather sure this 'derelict ship' was made of concrete.

Shepard only giggled beside her. "Wait for it…wait for it…there."

Miranda shook her head.

"Look! They wear high-heeled boots, too!"

"They look like they're made of tin-foil."

"But they value their tin-foil posture."

Miranda cast Shepard a side-long glance. She was slumped easily in the chair, back against the metal support wall, with the chair back at her right side, arm tossed casually over it.

"Mmhm." Shepard held up her left hand. "I know. Terrible for my posture."

Miranda scooted closer, letting their shoulders touch. "At least you're aware." Another five minutes passed. "What is she saying? She's squeaking so much I can't even understand…you could have your rodent speak this part with the amount of high-pitched squealing she's doing. Do you even know what she's trying to say?"

"Uh…good question." Shepard shifted in her seat a little. "I've never been able to figure it out with her crying voice. Something about pirates attacked their ship. I think."

"They should have destroyed those purple outfits."

"But they go so great with their silver boots."

"I don't trust them."

"What?" Shepard turned to her. "Have you seen this before?"

"Haven't had the pleasure."

"Oh…well…" Shepard faced the screen again. "You're no fun."

"I believe I told you that I'm good at judging people and their motives from the start."

"But this is a vid!"

"I can hazard a guess as to the screenwriter's motives." Miranda grinned.

"You…you know what? Shush and watch."

"It's alright, Shepard." She reached over, her hands finally free of the confines of her gloves, and took Shepard's hand. "Not everyone can be perfect."

/ / /

"Sure. Cut off half her head and she can slap it back on as if nothing happened." Miranda raised an eyebrow and glanced to the woman beside her, who giggled again. "And then…wait. Wait, is she…is she snotting on him?"

Green goop slid from one 'unkillable space zombie's' face onto the face of an already-dead crewmate. She was definitely snotting on that man.

Shepard squeezed her hand lightly. "You know, if we got turned into crazy space monsters but you were dead before all the fun started, I would snot on you so you could come back to life, too."

"Pardon me while I attempt to contain my excitement."

"No, no. No containing. Let it all out."

"Huzzah."

"Don't you feel better?"

"Mmhm. So, these guns they're firing…they'll knock an enemy back fifteen feet, but do nothing to the one shooting? Are they based on mass effect technology?"

"Uh…no. This was way before they even discovered the mass relay in Pluto."

"Charon, not Pluto."

"That's what I meant."

Miranda settled back in her seat, leaning against Shepard a little more. "I can't believe I'm still watching this."

/ / /

"So? What'd you think?" Shepard smiled as the credits started rolling another grueling hour full of dreadful acting later.

"That…was…" Miranda buried her forehead in Shepard's shoulder. "Remind me never to let you pick what we watch…ever again."

"So glad you brought back the terrible vid extraordinaire, right?"

Miranda turned to look at the time displayed in the lower left hand corner of the screen. There was not enough time in the galaxy to address the evolution and mutation flaws the creatures had. And then that glowing, green orb… "We both need to get to bed," she muttered before sighing.

"Right. Illium tomorrow. Get the asari and the assassin guy…see if Liara needs anything…and get more fish!"

Miranda raised her head. "Shepard…what happened to your current collection of fish?"

"Uh…weeeellll…I don't really have a current collection of fish."

There was a long pause. "You didn't."

"Mm…I did. I forgot to feed them." Her mouth tilted sideways in a grin. "It's okay. I had a funeral and everything. Sir Knight McFurball and EDI were there. Said our prayers and shipped 'em down the porcelain express. Or…titanium…whatever that toilet seat is. All I know is that it's cold in the middle of the night."

"You're not going to try and write it in your next report, are you?" Miranda asked as she stood.

Shepard only grinned as she powered down the projector.

"Of course." She leaned down and brushed a stray lock of hair from Shepard's forehead, revealing the thinning scar underneath. She pressed her lips against it for a long moment. "Goodnight, Shepard," she murmured against her skin.

"G-goodnight, Miranda."

The operative cast one more look back before entering her room, watching Shepard tote the small projector happily toward the elevator and disappear around the corner.

It wasn't quite time to sleep yet. She still had Fade to track for Garrus.

She sat down at her desk and started going through the files of known ID forgers on the Citadel. It was several minutes before she realized she was grinning. Like an absolute idiot.

Dammit.

What was she doing?

She didn't know how to do…emotions.

This was so far beyond senseless.

But it seemed so perfectly…natural…normal…to be leaning against Shepard, watching that stupid, stupid…Plaguers. Laughing together at the ridiculousness of it all.

It had seemed so…right…when she kissed her.

Stop thinking that way, her mind hissed. She could never…not when she finds out.

Of course. Her past. If she was lucky, they'd all die going through the Omega-4 Relay and she'd never have to tell Shepard any of that.

But the way she'd held her…and asked for permission…

Something told Miranda she might know something already.

Which only complicated things further.

What if she really did feel this…thing…for Shepard…and she didn't come back from the mission?

She sighed heavily.

This emotional entanglement was going to get someone killed.